


Affairs of the Heart

by paranoidparsnip



Category: Guild Wars 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, Friendship, M/M, Mental Health Issues, PTSD mentions in later chapters my dudes, Reasonable Stupidity, Reconciliation, Trahearne Lives (Guild Wars), We're All Friends Here, all my kiddos have issues, descriptions of being sick if that's a bother to you, gardening as coping mechanism, making generous changes to lore woops, no beta we die like men, ruby loves food and so do i, sort of post kralk era but also not canon so it be what it be, this is me basically making my stupid cabbage necromancer deal with his feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:08:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26184727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paranoidparsnip/pseuds/paranoidparsnip
Summary: In which one floral necromancer has to learn how to deal with getting what he wanted.OrTrahearne comes back from the dead, but Riaghael is distrustful and bitter.
Relationships: Trahearne/Male Player Character (Guild Wars)
Comments: 37
Kudos: 28





	1. The Growing Of

**Author's Note:**

> This all started as me having a discussion about the irritating "bury the gays" trope. I mean, I love a good bit of plot driven angst but senseless and repetitive use of the trope is just insulting. Jokes on you, I thought, no one can bury shit if they are both gay necromancers.
> 
> Then it spiraled from there. Now it's eating at me until I get to a point where it's happy.
> 
> No idea how long this will go on- if by chance or miracle you manage to read this entirely self indulgent thing, I thank you! 
> 
> There likely will be a plethora of grammar errors, probably spelling errors as well because I am bad at editing.

**The Growing Of**

He had been minding his own business, tending to the small garden lot he kept. Pruning an omnomberry bush that for some reason hardly ever produced fruit anymore. Two of the branches had gotten long and spindling, reaching over each other in a mad squabble as to which one could get more sunlight. He hated having to trim them, they were growing little buds for flowers to emerge. Yet that extra weight had started to infringe on their overall growth so he cut them off close to the central stem with an internal apology. Maybe now the other branches had a chance to bear fruit.

 _I doubt it._ He thought sourly.

Perhaps it was because the fruit bush was an accident, some pink menace of a moa happened to –ahem- deposit a seed uninvited with its complementary fertilizer. It had become a decorative shrub and nothing else, rarely offering more than a few berries a season.

Riaghael was considering uprooting the whole plant when the sounds of quickened footsteps reached him. Trying to find a place in the Grove with low pedestrian traffic had been difficult but alas – maybe his search had gone in vain. Sylvari are curious to a fault. As the sound of it drew closer, he recognized the gait and the fluidity accompanying them causing him to let out a relieved breath. Not another curious sapling, freshly tumbled from a pod, but an elder. A Firstborn.

Looking up momentarily as the slender figure neared his garden, he gave a nod of acknowledgement and returned his attention to the berry bush at hand.

“Well, what do you think? Should I dig up this useless hitchhiker or leave it be? I suppose it’s not hurting anything but I would like some place to start a strawberry or two.”

Catching her breath still from running, Caithe didn’t answer. Riaghael continued on anyway,

“Right, right. If this berry isn’t doing much of anything then maybe it’s the soil it grows in. So strawberries would be similar and probably not survive. Pity, I do miss having them every now and again. Thank you for your input.”

“I need to speak with you.”

“You already are speaking with me.”

Taken aback and chest still heaving from running, the thief shot him a look of irritation. “Oh not now. Riaghael, please, it’s important.”

“Everything is important.” He huffed. “But… sorry. It must be significant if you came yourself to fetch me.”

“It is. It’s caused quite a stir among the involved parties. There is a pod that the Pale Tree did not manifest. It is from her but not of her, she has no memory of their face or form. Whoever is inside is being shielded from her.”

“Shielded? Are they absent from the Dream then?”

“We cannot tell, as of yet.”

“Strange. But why is this relevant to me?”

“The pod is not empty. The Tenders have been inspecting it all day and…” She trailed off. Caithe met his inquiring gaze with one of reluctance. “They say they know who it is.”

“And how do they know, exactly? Was it talking? Is there a sign on it? I’m not a fortune teller, I’m a Necromancer. And I’m certainly not a Tender. I have a hard enough time just getting fruit bushes to grow. I fail to see how this had anything to do with-”

“They say it’s _him._ ” She interrupted.

Riaghael did not pause or bat an eye. “No it’s not. Don’t be foolish.”

“I do not know if I can make myself believe it either, but the Tenders are so sure of it.”

“So leave the Tenders to their shameless gossiping and grabs for attention. I didn’t expect you to fall for that nonsense.”

The spring colored sylvari knew the moment the words left his mouth that they had been too sharp. Too condescending. She narrowed her eyes at him, revealing the cold glow that he had only seen before while on missions with her.

“Sorry, again. I do appreciate you taking the time to come and tell me in person, Caithe. Really. Even if it’s just a hope beyond hope, a similar face, or a fluke from the Tenders judgement. Thank you for telling me. But it’s not him.”

That seemed to appease her enough for her to reply, the icy glow dimming. Her displeasure faded to a melancholy mood. “I know. I don’t blame you for doubting. I can’t find it in myself to really believe it either. But I thought that you needed to know.”

“I appreciate the concern.”

Silence grew between them, each lost in their own lulling memories of the past. Birdsong and the murmur of waterfalls echoed around them, the sound skipping like a stone off any surface it could reach. Sunlight reflected from the pools danced and met merrily with the floating lightning bugs and smaller sparkflies, turning it into a waltz of nature. Green reeds lay in an uneven line along the embankment, to be followed by sweet smelling grasses that tucked in the land like a well-loved blanket. It was peaceful here. Beautiful. Serene.

He wondered if it was enough.

After defeating Mordremoth, Riaghael resigned from the Pact. This caused much disruption and chaos among the ranks as they had grown to rely on him. Their Commander. Their problem solver. However, he was done. He had met his maker, quite literally, and found him monstrous. He had gone through decay, root, and madness to save the world twice, but now he was finished.

The world would find another hero, another commander, another scapegoat to hold as holy when all looked bleak. He didn’t have any faith for the holy, it had never helped him. Everyone had come out changed from their encounter with the dragon, yet he couldn’t help but feel the Sylvari had the heaviest burden.

Caithe was back in the grove after the events regarding the new Crystal Dragon. Spending time in contemplation and her own musings.

Riaghael could relate, he had taken a similar approach post dragon. Growing roots and trying to live a normal, sedentary life. Stretched into a routine and given time to explore other areas he had shunned for sake of duty. There was always the part of him that missed the call to adventure, the risk, the thrill of survival. Moment to moment each second a life or death decision.

This moment, he concluded, was getting very dull. He broke the silence.

“You know if we stand here any longer we’ll start growing moss.” The words come out so matter-of-factly that Caithe just shook her head and smiled. Her friend’s abruptness remained true.

“Then would you care to join me? I’m planning on visiting the pod to see what the situation is like. If nothing else, it will satisfy my curiosity and your need to be right.”

“A win-win, how lovely.” He returned his attention to the once offending shrub, giving it a nudge with his foot. “I suppose that means this fella gets to live another day. You can consider yourself lucky, shrub!”

There was no reply from the bush as the two friends walked away – for it was indeed just a berry bush.

* * *

The winding pathways were sparsely occupied at this time of day, when most of the occupants were tending to their business. The ones who wandered freely were doing that, not lingering on roadways for long. It wasn’t yet evening and the late afternoon sun caused much of the city to be uncomfortably warm.

Many would say that their cities are alive with their own personality and synchronicity, but the Grove took that idea and ran with it laughing. A whole city – palpably alive. From the woven roots and branches beneath their feet to the ceiling overhead, everything was alive and vibrant with life. Plus, very few cities have a single manifestation of the whole area that they can sit and speak with.

Even though the lower levels are cooler from being spared the wrath of the direct sun, the lack of breeze makes the air stuffy and humid. Riaghael wondered if that is why the more fungus presenting Sylvari tended to stay on the lower levels. He himself stayed there because there were fewer visitors. Casually walking in stride with his longtime friend, as though on a simple outing they discussed everything from preferred climate to old adventures and even amusing anecdotes. All topics besides the reason that they were out on a stroll in the first place.

A certain degree of anxiety began to start in his chest as they grew ever nearer to the Tenders designated section. The thought passed his mind of summoning Wisp, his shadow minion, as some form of comfort but he realized that would likely make this visit even more stressful. The shadow minion would seem mockingly out of place in a location like the Tenders Terrace. Not everyone sees the art in Necromancy.

 ** _He did._** A little voice whispers in his mind, it’s tone was his own but scorning and hateful. Not quite Mordremoth, thank the Pale Tree, but foul all the same. It had been there since…

“We’re here.” Caithe announced, face unreadable.

“So we are.” He rubbed the back of his neck absently, letting the arm fall to his side. A tremble started in his dominant hand – he looked down at it in frustration. _Not now._

The Sylvari at his side lightly touched his arm in comfort but said nothing.

The glow he had already been emitting deepened, visible even in the bare light. Soft hues of peach meshed together with the light greens and yellows of his skin, making him appear much like a freshly emerged sprout. It also gave away his Cycle to nearly everyone he encountered. Dawn. A new Sylvari approached them, garbed in a humble green leaf smock that had brown winding through it. He was a good deal shorter than either of them but heavier muscled. Giving them a polite smile, he introduced himself.

“Ah, greetings! I am Coeltoir, a Tender here at the terrace along with my friend Gheimridh. It’s always an honor to welcome such an esteemed hero and a Firstborn.”

“Thank you and well met. We are here to see if… if the rumor is true.” Caithe spoke when Riaghael chose not to. His tongue was unusually dry in his mouth.

Coeltoir’s face tightened in wariness. “You would not be the first today to ask about such things. I just ask that you try not to disturb any pods with your visit. It’s disorienting enough leaving the Dream to be brought fully into the world, I would try to keep it as gentle as possible.”

“Of course, we shall try to be as delicate as we are able.”

A much more organic smile emerged from the Tender. “Thank you for understanding. As I had said, you are not the first visitor to come on such claims. I don’t suppose either of you would know the Commander of the Pact, Ruby Aenn?”

“Ruby?” Riaghael said, surprised and thankful to have found his voice at last. “Why yes, she is a dear friend of ours. She’s been off gallivanting on heroics in the desert as far as I know.”

“She was the other who asked about seeing the anomaly pod. But, er, well she brought her fernhound into the pod area and it caused a bit of a commotion. The hound tried to greet every single pod by barking and jumping on them.”

“That does sound like Ruby. You may have noticed but we don’t have any fernhounds.”

“Wonderful! Then if you two would just follow me.”

The Tender turned and led them past several pods, waving at the other Tender who was caring for bleary eyed, freshly emerged sprouts. It was spring, which meant that there were more pods present than usual and with it more sprouts. Weaving past glowing pods containing fellow Sylvari felt strangely unnerving for Riaghael, who was hopelessly out of his element. Death was second nature but birth? Thorns, that is intimidating. Caithe elected to stay quiet, content to observe the pods and sprouts coolly.

One pod in the back seemed out of place, it’s angle and rotation differed from the others. It faced the wall instead of the rest of the room, isolated and listing to one side. While the rest of the pods emitted an ambient golden glow, this one was less luminous and had red undertones. Coeltoir gestured to it as though it wasn’t obvious that this was indeed the rumored pod. The tremor in his hand had gotten so bad that Riaghael kept his arm pressed against his chest, protectively. Stepping forward, he noted the perplexing swirl of dread as well as an impossible sliver of hope. He hadn’t expected that. On wobbly legs akin to those of the sprouts he passed earlier, the necromancer found himself wanting to leave. If he knew one way or another what lay in the pod, it might really hurt him.

The anomaly pod’s walls were thinner than the others and it looked almost sickly, like the membrane was liable to rupture instead of open neatly. A far stretch from the golden, waxy siblings that surrounded it. Riagael had a thought intrude into his mind, was it possible for a spout to die in their pod before they ever emerge? Could it have been weakened from falling too soon and jostled the growing sylvari inside? Would they Awaken already suffering into a world eager to add to it? His stomach lurched at the idea.

Peering uneasily around the casing he found a small section that had thinned to the point of translucency. Not entirely clear, but sheer enough to almost be able to make out a shape within. A vague outline, details either unformed or obscured. He felt as though he had seen something he should not have. It felt _wrong_. To gaze at one who lay in the Dream, scrutinizing for details and making judgements when they hadn’t even fully come to exist yet. It was borderline perverse. He stepped back quickly, averting his gaze.

The others looked to him for his reaction or thoughts. Instead, he shook his head in negation as his reply. He was unsettled and felt as though he had violated something important but said nothing. He took his leave and left the pod room as quickly as he could.

Outside, he waited for Caithe to inspect the pod and come to her own conclusion. He was looking forward to leaving this whole affair behind, his garden still was in need of care. It was so much easier to breathe out here – not having to be small and quiet in the company of those awakening. The job of being a Tender was at the bottom of his list of hobbies, he’d lose his mind comforting wide-eyed sprouts with their thousand questions and lack of personal space. Clearly some are more build for this task than others, Riaghael concluded. He respected Coeltoir for being able to handle it. Ruminating on what Ruby had made of the anomaly occupied his time suitably enough until Caithe finally returned.

To all the world it seemed as though she had just been observing clouds passing by instead of some foreign object that could potentially be a threat. _By the Pale Tree, would it kill her to express a little?_ Coeltoir followed behind her.

Riaghael gave her the courtesy of full attention, curious as to what her judgement would be. “May I ask your thoughts?”

“It’s impossible to tell who is in there, even with the thinned walls. Anyone who claims to know for sure is trying to gain popularity, sensationalize a tragedy, and otherwise be a disgrace to our community.” Though her tone had been level and neutral, he had known her long enough to be able to pick up on the subtle waves of contempt and anger ebbing beneath the words. They shared opinions, then. Good. The brightly floral Sylvari hoped in a dark way that she would release hell on them for suggesting such an idea. The master thief’s knife skills were a joy to witness.

“This rumor will cease here or else those who spread it will. Do I make myself clear? Riaghael?”

“Clear as spring water.”

“Coeltoir?”

“Ah well, yes. I am not the one who started or perpetuated it and while I can understand your frustration, please don’t take it out on me or my friend.”

“Of course. But you are the one who will finish it.”

“You have my word.” He bowed in respect.

Looking around with a new sense of clarity and resolve, Caithe announced, “Now that our errand is finished, I am returning to my engagements. I need to go speak with the Pale Tree regarding something. It’s so good to see you, Riaghael. I hope we’ll talk again soon.” She offered a small wave to her friend and to Coeltoir and departed up the winding stairway towards the Omphalos Chamber.

The Tender blew out a sigh of relief when she was out of sight. Running a hand across his face and looking older than he had at the start of this visit.

“I mean no disrespect but by my bark she has a strong presence. Perhaps it is a Firstborn trait.”

The necromancer gave a sound of agreement. “Mm. I can see that.”

“The trouble is that I don’t even know where this rumor first came from. None that I know have spoken of it – at least not in my company.”

“What do you mean? It wasn’t your group that started it?”

“Not as far as I am aware. Ruby made no clear indication of where she had heard it from.”

He gave the Tender a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “I was sure it had come from the Tenders, but if it not, I am sorry for being so on board with Caithe’s threats.”

“It’s fine. If you will excuse the play on words, it’s a tender subject for the both of you. It’s forgiven.”

“It seems you have much work to do in getting to the bottom of this, I shall leave you be. If it’s not trouble, do please keep me updated on where you findings lead you. I’d like to _talk_ to the one who started this.”

Coeltoir nodded. “I’m not one for violence but with all the trouble this has caused, I’d like to as well. Farewell, Riaghael.” He offered another slight bow and headed back to question his co-worker.

* * *

The walk back to his abode gave him time to reflect on things, even when he hadn’t particularly wanted to.

_Not all of them are so intense._

This whole incident had brought back feelings and thoughts he was sure he had resolved by now.

No, not all of them are so intimidating. Even Caithe is often pleasant when it suits her. Wynne he had heard was also fair of nature.

Then there had been Him. He was such an enigma, even to himself. A level of understanding flowed through him so deeply yet it never edged into the realm of invasive or cloying. Compassion without saccharine interference is rare, to be able to care without smothering to appease one’s own ego. Riaghael never understood his ability to be able to feel for a cursed, waterlogged, plague riddled land that tried to tear him asunder, it was a mystery. And would stay one.

A dull ache began in his chest, a pin point at first then swelling to encircle the whole of it. He was very well acquainted with this particular form of ache, it had never fully left him and he doubted that it ever would. For all things have their seasons, their cycles, even pain ebbs and flows.

The term ‘heartache’ was what the humans used for it, yet he wondered if it still counted if it was of plant matter rather than flesh. There would be some humor or irony in that if he had the cause to explore it further.  
Riaghael let the sensation be. Ignoring it made it worse. The whole subject was not as raw as it had once been but it wasn’t something he wanted to dwell on overlong.

Like many wounds, it had healed over time but the scar it left was ugly and sore from time to time.

So he returned to his house – a simple leaf and vine structure with a hammock, a few choice items of comfort, a chest of things he had gathered during his adventuring days, and his greatsword. The Dreamers Garden never really changed from his days as a sapling. He preferred the smaller quarters. What point is there in huge rooms with furniture or trophies in attempt to impress others? Ridiculous. He had more than enough to survive on. A place to sleep, a place to lay down his belongings, and his garden outside. That was all he needed.

It certainly wasn't because small spaces felt less empty.

* * *

The next day, after tending to some seedlings who had been knocked over by one of the pink squawking menaces that roam freely on the lower levels, he made his way to the Tenders Terrace again. Not for the sake of the pod but for the pods keeper. Coeltoir had been left in a bit of a pickle and he wanted to see if there was anything he could do to help. Said Tender was a little on edge to be visited by the necromancer so soon, but warmed to him when he explained his intent.

  
“I had forgot to ask you something. You said that Ruby had been though here to see the pod, yes?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“When was this?”

“The morning of your and Firstborn Caithe’s visit.”

“Do you think she could still be in the Grove? I can ask with her where she heard it and see where it takes us.”

“It’s possible she’s still around. She said she was glad for a chance to be out of the sand for a while.”

“I can imagine, deserts aren’t the most favorable to those of us who aren’t cactus presenting. I’m going to go check in with her – be well.”

If he knew Ruby, she would either be in the chef’s area trying to make a new dish or else tending to the fernhound kennels. That Ranger had a knack for drawing the attraction of animals, it may well do with her always having food on hand. The cooking area was closer than the kennels so he decided to investigate there first.

 _She could have said something_ , he thought, _guess she can’t be bothered now that she’s taken up the role of Commander._

* * *

Even among Necromancers, he felt he stuck out like a weed. For many had an air of stoicism and quiet seriousness about their profession. It was consider grotesque by many and while legal across Tyria, it wasn’t viewed favorably like elemental magic. Many of their kind who were interested in death magic were darkly colored, green, olive, or a charcoal color often with lime green glows. Typically they were Dusk or Night cycles. Mysterious types of solemn nature.

Riaghael felt rather like an outcast, in a group already edging on being outcasts. Born of Dawn vibrancy, skin the color of fresh shoots and delicate pink flowers gracing his head. Roots on his head arched down and were woven with strands of light green and yellow. The running joke between him and Ruby was that since he had been awakened at exactly 11:59am, he was an honorary Noon cycle member. He looked almost comical when he summoned his flesh minions or swarms of locusts to him – the macabre atmosphere of a necromancer on a Sylvari who would have made the crocuses blush? Amusing at best. His ranger friend teased that he was the face of Spring itself, he dismissed it at the time but secretly thought of it warmly. It was his favorite season. 

When his undead companions weren’t with him many thought he was an elementalist. To which they would have more than a modest shock when he summoned his blood fiend Squash who hugged anything it sensed within tendrils reach. Very affectionate for a fiend made of viscera and death magic. More amiable than most people he would reckon.

Smiling at the memory as another one took its place – one of his most dear.

Before Maguuma or even Orr, he had a moment to converse with Trahearne about the necromancy challenges he was facing. They had just retaken Claw Island and were discussing the idea of forming a ‘pact’ of sorts with the three orders. The matter at hand was his flesh golem, it had a mind and will of its own. The will in question was being hell bent on charging at Riaghael at any given opportunity. He was frustrated, he didn’t know what he had been doing wrong.

“You need to spend more time with it. Like anyone, the trust will come from shared experiences together.”

“That’s easier said than done.” He remarked dryly. “It’s hard to spend time with it when its throwing you into a wall or you're surrounded by that people are aghast at flesh minions to begin with. And towards me for my association with them. It may be legally permitted magic but that doesn’t mean that they are welcoming of it. Can’t go into many outposts without getting told to dismiss them before entering.”

“It’s not your job to change their opinions, it’s your job to help the Vigil solve problems. What they think of you isn’t your problem.”

He shifted his weight to his other foot, crossing his arms in irritation. “I suppose not. But it doesn’t help. I just wish they could see past their own flesh for a moment and see the intricacy of it. If they’d even be bothered to look. Death magic can be beautiful, too.”

“While all magic is spectacular in its own way, I am inclined to agree with you.” Trahearne offered the fellow necromancer a rare but genuine smile. “I find great beauty in it as well.”

The dawn born noticed that he became overcome with a jittery, uncomfortable sensation. Far too warm for their environment, far too nervous when they had just had their first major victory. The cheers from the assembled orders in the courtyard went dull and muffled in his ears. Trahearne hadn’t seemed this close to him on the overlook a moment ago, had he? The world slowed and staggered, burning the details into his reeling mind. He had a single thought dominate him.

_Oh no._

Back to the present moment, he paused on his way to the Maker's Terrace and snorted, bemused by his past self.

“’Oh no’ is right you great soppy thing. I was such a mess.” He said aloud with a sigh to no one in particular. Why hadn’t any of the members of the Vigil told him that you fall in love so suddenly, like being thrown headfirst into a snowbank.

No warning, no rationale, just one moment things are normal and the next you’re in love. Perhaps the love had been there all along, planted like some forgotten seed that only grew when light of danger lit upon it. It took him some time to figure out what love was and what it wasn’t. It wasn’t only admiration for him, for his accomplishments and studies. It wasn’t the feeling of comradery of having fought a terrible foe together. It wasn’t just sharing much in common. It could have been easier to handle if it had been one of those things – yet it wasn’t. It was more. The elusive ‘more’ never made much sense until that moment, when it made too much sense.

He was jolted from his reverie by arriving at the chef’s quarters. It didn’t get him very far.

No, she hadn’t stopped by.

No, no one had seen her since her return from the desert.

No, sorry we can’t be of further help – would you like to try a sample?

Riaghael left the Grove to find the fernhound kennels his friend often spoke of.


	2. Flowers to bear fruit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the pod opens, more questions arise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for gross descriptions of sylvari pods. I wrote this in a mad dash to get out my ideas before I passed out. Sorry if there are spelling/grammar errors galore - will be fixing them as I see them. Hard to always see the forest for the trees when you're writing. 
> 
> Get it? Forest? Trees? Sylvari?  
> ...  
> I'll see myself out into the dumpster, sorry.

**Flowers to bear fruit**

The pod shifted in an uneasy manner when the inhabitant inside started to stir, but it did not open.

Gold and red fluid held inside the transparent walls sloshed with the movement. Generally, the pod would split open along one of the sides or sometimes multiple and release the Sylvari within when the pressure of movement met the inner membrane. Sometimes they would even open early and risk tossing out the unsuspecting sapling if it sensed them moving even among the bowers above.

However, this particular pod took no such orders and refused to give way. The walls wavered as the resident turned about. It did not open.

As senior tender, he has seen strange things with pods before yet nothing quite like this. It happened on rare occasion that a pod would refuse to open altogether. Usually, that meant something had gone wrong in the development of the sapling. The grim task of taking the pod to be buried in Caledon forest was his. “Those the Dream held too dear” was what he had called them. He and Gheimridh often wondered who they would have become.

This pod though, troublesome as it might be, had hope. Movement within revealed the fact that the sapling had made it far enough to warrant emerging. Where there is movement there is life. Those walls that had seemed so sickly and thin before now mocked him with their iron tenacity. It did not open.

A little root of horror found its grasp in his chest. The other tender looked skittish and uncertain. Coeltoir’s voice grew sharp, cutting through the air,

“Get them out. Get them out! There’s too much fluid in this pod, they’ll drown before it opens!”

Quickened by the panic of losing a sapling, the two tenders moved in unison and sprang into action. They scanned for any crack or crease that had started to form along the sides but found none. A sudden gasp escaped him when the pod jolted as though struck from the inside. It did not open.

“There’s no crack! It isn’t budging!”

Coeltoir turned to his coworker, voice raising an octave in stress. “Belt knife!”

Gheimridh on his left fumbled awkwardly to get her knife out from a leaf bound pouch but managed to succeed and handed it to him.

He cut a slit along the side, careful not to plunge too deeply and risk hurting the already struggling Sylvari. Red streaked ichor streamed out in an angry gush, the fluid splashed at his feet and pooled around the pod. It sent a wave of nausea through him – his throat tightening of its own accord. Turning his head away for a moment to avoid the risk of getting splashed, Coeltoir noted the disturbed expression on Gheimridh's face. This was some new devilry the likes of which they had never seen before and hoped never to see again.

Once the majority of the liquid had been released, he widened the cut he had made earlier. Unlike before, the pod no longer moved and the shape of the sapling appeared to have stilled completely. Even now the walls held strong in their resilience.

“Gheimridh! Hold one side of the opening we’re going to have to pry it open.”

She nodded in agreement, making a face in disgust as her fingers became coated in the slippery yellow and red fluid. It was difficult to get a firm grasp of the lip that the cut had opened. Yet finally, she managed to finally wedge her wrist into the side and use it as leverage to grab the inner wall.

Coeltoir positioned himself on the opposite side of the cut and used both hands to try and open it as far as it would go. There was a crunch as he managed to pull his side of it back enough that the pod tore at the sides, its walls stressed to the point of ripping. Any remaining fluid that had collected at the bottom expressed itself as the opening widened. Gheimridh reached in to grab the shape inside- terrified what she may find. _Pale Mother, please._

The first thing she felt was the slippery suggestion of an arm. Fully formed. That was a bit of good news. Next, guiding her hands upwards she felt the distinct edge of a shoulder which is where she decided to test her luck, she tightened her grip and pulled. A horrifying mental image came to mind, what if the arm just… came off. She shook her head trying to dispel the thought as she attempted to coax the shape out of the remains of its pod. Relieved of its duty, the leathery membrane defected and gave up the fight, allowing the Sylvari within to be released from its clutches. Coeltoir joined her and reached an arm in from the other side, tugging to get the sapling free.

After a good bit of heaving, for a slippery sapling is challenging to hold onto, they had succeeded. They laid the figure out on its back, pulled out into the open air at last. Gheimridh let her mouth hang open in disbelief.

“Was he always that dark of a green?” She asked in a voice quiet with awe.

“More importantly is he _alive_? “

As if to answer the question, the Sylvari gave an uncomfortably wet cough and rolled onto his side, retching more of the fluid that had been in the pod.

“Easy, easy, you’re in safe hands.” Coeltoir said, “Just rest, you’ve been through a lot. Welcome back… Firstborn.”

* * *

As he walked up to Danador’s kennels out in Caledon forest, he saw his friend in the middle on the vine fenced pen squatting and playing with a fernpuppy. It was hard to miss her, her coloring was rich in oranges, browns, and reds. Autumnal colors in a place of perpetual summer. Her very essence seemed to defy the living growth that surrounded her. The fall and the spring, friends as unlikely as you could imagine.

“Ruby!”

She didn’t seem to notice. He tried again.

“Ruby!”

Still no response, she was so absorbed in her fancy. He started to get a little irritated.

“RUBY FOR ELMS SAKE-“

“Oh!” She stood up, surprised. “Sorry, Riaghael! How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to see you pick up the fernhound pup and play with its paws like it was dancing.”

“Ah. Barty here is a great dancer! Aren’t you Barty?”

The pup in question barked in approval, sticking its tongue out to lick its nose. She set him down on the ground to which he immediately ran off to play with another fernhound. The ranger smiled as it engaged in more of its typical playful antics.

“I know you’re busy and all, Ruby, but why didn’t you let me know you were in town? We could have gone to Lions Arch for a round of ale.”

“I’m sorry Riag, I wasn’t planning on stopping by for long. Just run in, run out, sort of thing. I got carried away by some bit of gossip and it derailed my plans.”

“Does said gossip happen to be that damn pod sitting in the Tender’s area that everyone seems to be doting on?”

“You’ve gotten swept up in it too then, have you?”

“No. I saw it – told them they were being stupid – and left. Caithe threatened to dice them into bite sized pieces.”

“She did?”

“Well more or less. 

“I see.”

“What you don’t… don’t actually think that it’s him in there do you?”

“Hmm. Don’t know. Hard to see anything for sure.”

 _“Ruby.”_ He said in disbelief. Surely she didn’t buy that foolish claim?

“Don’t give me that tone. I know it’s as likely as me making a decent caramel sauce. It’s fun to daydream about the what-if’s though.”

“Maybe for you. Personally I’d rather not have it brought up.”

“I wasn’t trying to rub nettles in an open wound.”

“Not really opened, but I’d rather avoid them anyway.” Riaghael couldn't help but notice that he sounded defensive, growing distant again. Internally kicking himself for having that be his default, he changed the topic, "So what trouble have you been up to?"

“Ah.” She laughed nervously. “What I’ve been up to.”

“Don’t say it like that – now it absolutely sounds like you’ve been up to no good. Trying to befriend the creatures of the world still? What ridiculous creature did you manage to tame this time?”

“An Iboga.”

“Iboga.” He said, echoing the word. “Am I supposed to know what that is without seeing one?”

“I’ll go fetch them on one condition.”

“And that is?”’

“That you’re nice to them! They have a lot of anxiety being away from the Crystal Desert and it makes them nippy. So no poking, no mean looks, and no insults.”

“Oi, what do you take me for? I’m not that mean.”

“You have all the filter of drunk Charr at a barbecue.”

“Harsh but fair. Okay, I’d love to see this little monster of yours.”

“See that’s exactly what I’m talking about. Mind your manners. Now, I’ve left them snoozing by Danador’s house over there. They have a tendency not to take kindly to fernhounds trying to get them to play most of the time.” Ruby said over her shoulder as she walked towards the verdant hut.

“A kindred spirit, I may like them yet.” He called after her.

A few minutes passed as she strolled to go retrieve her pet. As she walked back, a strange silhouette followed behind her. It was serpentine but its head held a strange profile. Crowned by what looked like a wreath of fleshy petals with spikes around their edges. In its center, mouths flayed open in a vaguely insectoid way and two red tentacle like protrusions emerged. The distant resemblance to something Mordrem caught him off guard. Riaghael tensed his shoulders as it drew nearer.

The ranger’s giddy grin of excitement slid from her face.

“Riag?”

There was a lengthy wait before he managed to speak, when he did his voice was choppy and tight. “They’re interesting.”

Ruby frowned, looking from her friend to her animal companion and back. She put a hand along the back of its head, behind the petal protrusions and gave it a light scratch. It made a strange hiss and flapped its petals at the touch. The necromancer couldn’t tell for the life of him if that was supposed to be a happy sound or an angry one.

Noticing that her friend was not pleased by her pet, she spoke to it the fanged iboga in a gentle tone. “What a good ‘boga. Thanks for waking up for me. Do you want to go back to the hut and finish your nap?”

It nodded, adding a hiss in apparent affirmation. It lifted its head upward and pulled the petals back in a yawn. A yawn with a multiply hinged jaw is impressive and horrifying at the same time. However, it then relaxed and made its way back to the hut, slithering away from them sleepily.

Once out of immediate view, Ruby took a tentative step forward, trying to catch his sight.

“Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just wasn’t expecting them to look quite like that I suppose.”

“They’re odd, but they are excellent at hunting.”

“I’m not exactly one to judge pet choices.” He gave a shrug, trying to dispel the remnants of the fight or flight still fluttering in his nerves. “Just sort of weirded me out.”

“They are a bit strange.” She said thoughtfully. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Fine, really. What’s their name?”

“Well I call them Arura but they don’t listen to it. I don’t actually know if they have ears, come to think of it.”

“They seemed to understand you well enough.”

“Mmm, true. Maybe it’s intent more than words. Plus we've soulmerged before... Riag, listen, if something makes you nervous you’re allowed to say it. I wouldn’t have brought them over if I had known that it made you uneasy.”

“I didn’t know it would.” He answered honestly. It wasn’t as though there was a warning about what would cause him to react in that way, it seemed invariable, fickle. “Plus I know how excited you are about your pets, didn’t want to ruin your enthusiasm.”

“Enthusiasm aside, if it makes you about run out of your bark it isn’t that important.”

Behind them a fernhound yelped as a mosquito tried to attack its tail, both Sylvari jumped at the sound. Ruby raised her voice, “LEAVE BARTY ALONE YOU MISERABLE PRICK!” and began stomping over to the pups rescue.

 _Classic Ruby._ He thought, letting the amusing situation of the ranger chasing a giant mosquito with a greatsword while screaming profanities wash away some of his tension. They had been friends since he was a sapling, the eclectic yet sisterly nature had won him over from the moment they met. Unfazed by much of anything, protective when needed, yet not so doting that she would lecture or nag. She was always ready to join in on plans that others might call ridiculous. Whereas the other older Sylvari tended to listen but then dismiss his whims, she listened as though everything were possible.

He wondered if the Pact appreciated her forthright attitude or if she drove the Priory members to drink. The pressures of being Commander he remembered too well and felt a pang of guilt that she had to hold such a title now, to be the Pact’s scapegoat. A little part of him was glad that it was in capable hands. The work everyone had put into it wasn’t wasted.

“Ruby!”

“One minute!”

“Once you’re done, can we go get something to eat?” He knew that her favorite hobby was befriending animals, only shortly to be rivaled by her love of cooking.

“Wonderful idea! This won’t – take – me - a – minute!” She punctuated each word by slashing the mosquito she had cornered with her sword. The delightful golden sheen of the blade was stained a reddish brown from the insect that lay neatly in several pieces on the ground. One of its legs twitched. She cut it off with a flick of the blade, a satisfied look about her, "Coming!"

* * *

Awareness crept back into his mind like a cat slipping through a gate unseen. The lulling dark had a siren call that felt rude to ignore. It would be so easy, he thought, to just go back to sleep. Let the arms of slumber wrap around him, cradled in its embrace. But agh, those sounds coming from everywhere and nowhere at once, he had no sense of direction anymore.

… _anymore?_

* * *

Four Sylvari stood around the figure, talking in low voices about what was to be done. Coeltoir chewed his lip anxiously while two of the others bickered among themselves. Two of them, Mearlainn and Celirea, had been in the local area and heard a commotion from the pod room. After coming to investigate, it led to them being smack in the middle of the situation.

“No, no and NO. I’m telling you we have to take him to the Pale Tree, you’re not even listening to me.”

“We can’t take him to the Pale Tree! We don’t even know if he is _him._ What if it’s just a lookalike?”

“A lookalike?!” Gheimridh said incredulously, voice growing louder in frustration before being shh’ed by the others. “If that’s not him then I’m a newt!”

“Quiet!” The senior Tender said sternly, “I think he’s starting to wake. Mearlainn, go. Get Caithe.”

“Why do I have to go?” She whined. “This isn’t fair.”

“Oh I’m sorry, would _you_ like to be the one who has to deal with her wrath when she finds out we didn’t tell her? And that wasn’t a request – go!”

She stomped her foot in anger but took off running in search of Caithe. Now left to her own devices and not competing with Mearlainn, Celirea piped up for the first time.

“Um is there… is there something I can do to help?” Her eyes were morose.

“Yes, actually.” Gheimridh said smiling at the downcast sapling, the brown leaves obscuring her face lifted as she was addressed. “Could you please go to the tailors and see if they have any more blankets for me? I feel like this is going to be a long night tending to the Firstborn here and doubt very much that we will be sleeping in our own beds. Might as well make the floor warmer!”

“Okay.”

“Thank you so much, my friend!” 

“We’re friends now?”

“We are indeed.” Coeltoir added giving her a quick smile before turning back to the stirring Sylvari.

“Okay, I’ll go see about the blankets then – friends!”

She, too, made her way out of the Tender’s Terrace, leaving only Coeltoir and Gheimridh alone with Trahearne. The Firstborn wheezed, expression of discomfort residing on his face, even in his half-conscious state. Taking off a fern glove, Coeltoir stretched over the figure and rested the back of his palm against his forehead. His kind face creasing again in worry.

“Too warm?”

“Warm enough for concern. I wish I could get him to drink something.” He sighed, pulling back his hand. “But I don’t want to risk him choking.”

“Do you think it’s from pulling him out of his pod too soon?”

“If it’s a fever or drowning I think I know which one he’d prefer.”

“Right. Yes. Coeltoir…” Gheimridh paused before asking the question that everyone kept dancing around. “Why, do you think? Why now?”

“I wish I had answers, but we’re both lost in this together it seems.” The Tender gave his coworker a tired smile. “I only hope that it’s a good omen.”

* * *

It used to be so warm, so peaceful, wherever he had been. Yet now, it was getting cold. Sounds far away and above clamored like bells. Darkness stretched out before him still but it seemed to be changing to grey, slowly but surely. Part of him regretted this. Part of him rejoiced. The distance he had felt between himself and his body was narrowing. As though he was being pulled in from some great height, he found the sounds growing louder and clearer. No longer the muffled tones of unknown origin but voices! The words were lost to him but the pitch lingered.

He found that opening his eyes was much harder than expected. There was so much weight on his eyelids – surely a sign that he wasn’t meant to open them just yet. Maybe he would try again after a moments rest.

* * *

“Firstborn Caithe!” A voice pierced the air behind her, the shrill pitch causing her to be on alarm. It had come from a light blue mottled sapling, her pink leaf skirt hoisted for better running capacity.

“Yes?” She turned to the approaching Sylvari, warily. “What-“

“You must come! It’s an emergency! In the pod chamber!” The rest of the words were unfinished as the thief dashed past her immediately. Mearlainn sat down on the ground hard without further notice. _Courier service… definitely out of the picture_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing my characters into this is fun. I sort of have the idea that when a soulbeast/ranger merges with their pet they reach a level of understanding with them, yet tend to start showing some of the animals nature. IE: Fanged Ibogas are Deadly which makes her less predictable and more prone to snapping, this time on an unlucky bug.


	3. A Clingstone Fruit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trahearne wakes, Ruby and Riaghael enjoy some lighthearted amusement.

**A Clingstone Fruit**

Upon arriving at the Tender’s Terrace, she noticed a crowd of curious onlookers gathered around the entrance to the pod room. Gheimridh had her arms outstretched as a makeshift barrier to keep the rabble from barging in or poking their heads through the door.

“Firstborn Caithe!” She cried in relief, “Thank the Pale Tree. Do you think you could help get these nosy nuances out of here?”

“We just want to look!” One of them pouted. “There’s no harm in looking!”

“There will be if you don’t mind your own business.” The Firstborn elbowed past the ensemble of saplings, turning and standing guard with the Tender. “Go back to your own affairs. Think of the stress you’re putting on the pods that are in there with your nonsense. When they emerge I doubt they’ll thank you for disturbing their awakening in such an inconsiderate fashion.” 

A general muttering of dispute and disagreement spread among the assembled. Gradually, they flittered off, wandering and gossiping among themselves like a flock of magpies.

“Normally I’d welcome their curiosity but this is a bit different.” Realizing she hadn’t properly introduced herself, she offered Caithe a hand. “Sorry, I’m Gheimridh. I’m also a Tender here.”

“Pleased to meet you. What’s this emergency?”

“It’s – well – I think you’d best just come look.” She picked at a flake of something red on the back of her hand. Making a gesture for her to enter into the pod room.

That would be twice in week that she had been here, more than she really felt comfortable with at this point. The other glowing pods now felt judgmental, glowering at her return. She recalled Riaghael’s reaction and comments, feeling more unwelcome by the moment.

In the space before her there were three figures. One was leaning against the wall at the rear, she was a sad looking Sylvari with drooping head ferns. There was one sitting on his knees on the floor, the green and brown smock he wore registered in her mind as the Tender that she had encountered several days ago. The last one lay on the floor, blanket pulled up to his chest. He was familiar. Too familiar.

“It can’t… it’s not possible.” She said, looking to the others for insight. They had none.

“Is it really him? You knew him the longest.”

“It certainly looks like him, but I don’t want to jump to conclusions.” Caithe knelt beside Coeltoir who scooted over to give her ample room. She said to him, “I’m sorry for being so prickly before.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s fine. I wouldn’t have believed it either unless I’d seen it.”

“How long has he been out of his pod?”

“Almost an hour now.”

“No signs of waking then?”

The Tender shook his head. “Sadly not. There were a few times when he stirred but never fully woke. I fear he is unwell.”

“I see. We won’t know if it’s really him until he wakes.”

 _If he wakes,_ a sinister thought chimed in. She dismissed it, managing to tear her gaze away from the likeness of her fellow Firstborn. The two Tenders that had been caring for him seemed exhausted – she wondered how long they had been awake, putting the pods and saplings well-being above their own. Gheimridh and Coeltoir hadn’t had a moment of peace since the pod started acting up. In addition to helping the other saplings that were emerging, they had been kicking out the curious and thrill-seeking young sprouts who wanted to catch a sight of the ‘anomaly pod’.

“Coeltoir and Gheimridh was it? If one of you wants to go take a break, I’d be happy to help keep vigil. I’m not a Tender, but I can keep an eye on him. Then when the other returns you can swap out.”

“That’s kind of you, Firstborn, but I’ll get by. Gheim, if you’d like to go wash up, you’re welcome to rest for a while.”

“Me? You’ve been fretting over him longer than I have. You go take a break! Quit being a stubborn old stump.”

“But-“

“No buts!”

Grudgingly he stood, giving a groan as his knees cracked in protest. He had been sitting like that for longer than he thought. At first, he thought of arguing against leaving for a break but upon seeing the insistent gaze of the remaining Tender and Caithe, his legs managed to find their way out of the pod room.

The hush that fell over the company was far from easy but not as awkward as Caithe had anticipated. How was she supposed to react? What is the normal response to such a thing? Did they expect her to shout with joy, with confusion? Maybe she was supposed to be overwhelmed with emotion and throw herself down in tearful appreciation? She didn’t even know if this was her fellow Firstborn anymore, for all she knew it could be someone who bore a striking resemblance but that’s it. Yet even though he lay still, occasionally twitching or moving slightly in his impeded state – she couldn’t help but be thankful if only for one thing. This sight, even if it was false, had replaced the last image she had of him.

The twisted, writhing and half possessed Trahearne was gone as this version painted over the lingering visages. Even if it wasn’t a happy event – to see him unwell like this – it still was better than before. She reached out and gently arranged his head leaves to a tidier position, keeping them out of his eyes.

Her gut feeling was that this _was_ him, despite logic roaring in her mind that it was not possible. What if it truly was? He would be thrilled to learn of all the dragon phenomena that had been going on in his absence. There was so much studying and researching for him to do, he could be occupied for ages. What would others say? What would the Commander say? She grew worried, what would Riaghael say? Her friend had stated his contempt rather plainly towards the whole situation. She had been doubtful and bitter about it as well. Caithe hoped with great sincerity that Riaghael might thrive where she could not – being given another chance to be with your love is not a grace that happens often.

And if it wasn’t him, then what? A mimic? A statistical rarity? A threat? Which option would be easier to handle?

* * *

The voices above him had stilled, no longer a whistling tone of chatter that swirled like chaotic winds. If he tried hard enough, he could pretend that he never heard it in the first place, that there was only ever quiet and sleep. An increasing amount of light around him suggested otherwise. Trahearne willed himself to stir, struggling to move against the weight of oblivion. In what felt like an uphill battle, he managed to convince his body (at least he assumed it was _his)_ to move.

He immediately regretted trying to open his eyes because as soon as they cracked open a mere slit, a frankly insulting amount of light invaded, causing him to close them in pain.

However, the motion was not missed. The noise started again.

* * *

“What exactly is this supposed to be again, Ruby?” Riaghael asked, poking at the strange lump on his dish, it jiggled threateningly.

“Flan! It’s sweet cream and egg flavored! It’d be better with caramel sauce, but well, you know.”

“And you’re absolutely confidant it won’t kill me?”

“Of course not! What do you take me for – I’m a master of cooking. I’ve been told it’s a Krytan dish. ”

“They do have a tendency to make things a bit extravagant. Oh well, here goes.”

He gouged out a spoonful of the gelatinous substance. Riaghael was convinced that nothing organic should ever have that texture. It was with great trepidation that he bit into the flan, bracing himself for having it immediately come back up. To his surprise, though, it wasn’t bad. The egg in it gave it a curious mouthfeel that was not as slippery as the visuals suggested, it had more creamy qualities than gelatin like ones. It was also not as sweet as he had anticipated. The egg yolks, which had given it its soft yellow coloring, kept enough richness to mellow the vanilla and sugar. As a whole, he enjoyed it.

Ruby was bouncing on her heels, eager to see his reaction.

“Well?”

“It’s very nice! Not quite like anything I’ve had before, but nice!”

“That’s a relief – you need to try new things. Not just stuck in that garden of yours, pulling up weeds and yelling at the local moa.”

“Who told you about the moa?”

“The moa did.” She grinned, pointing at herself. “You forget. Soulbeast.”

“Ah.” That was all he added to the thought, scooping another bite of flan into his mouth.

“How’s Wisp? I didn’t see him around with you.”

“I haven’t summoned him in ages. No reason to.”

“What if he gets lonely, wherever he is?” She pulled a concerned face.

“He’s a minion, not a pet. No reason to conjure him unless he’s going to get something out of it.”

“Aw, but he likes you.”

“He’s bound to me – it’s not like he has a choice.”

“So I take it you haven’t summoned any of your other minions either then.” She rested her chin in her palm. “Wonder how they are getting on.”

“Probably just as content to not hang around with me gardening. Think of how they’d trample my poor seedlings. How’s being the Commander treating you?”

“It’s alright, I guess. It’s honestly a lot less exciting than I had expected.”

Riaghael nodded in sympathy. The glamor of being a ‘hero’ also came with heaps of documentation, discussions with opposing factions, and meetings where everyone is so convinced they are right that you can’t get a word in edgewise. Especially when one is representing the entirety of the Pact, it can get burdensome at times.

“If you ever wanted to drop by headquarters, I’m sure everyone would be happy to see you.”

“Thanks, but no. Why waste their time? My business is here these days.” The floral necromancer passed his gaze around the Dreamer’s Terrace, taking in the little details that had grown to mean much to him. The clamor of crafts being made in the landing above, the lively conversation of passersby, the breeze passing through the vines in a gentle whistle.

* * *

He decided to give it another try, the blinding illumination and cacophonous sounds of chatter couldn't rid him of his want to see where he was. Trahearne opened his eyes and for a moment saw only the disorienting brightness, then there were blurs moving within it. He couldn’t make out who or what they were. Lucidity was fleeting and happened in rare seconds before he felt his thoughts drift out – reaching for that comforting darkness.

When clarity fell upon him the next time, the figures became more defined. Three of them, for sure. He knew their tones were concerned, tense maybe. But why? The answer eluded him as the tide carried him away once more.

For when he was returned, there were fewer shapes around him, only two figures now. The glare seemed to have left and the room had a different light. It was softer and had an amber quality to it. The developing awareness no longer was swayed so easily by the murmur of sleep. Above him, the ceiling seemed to be made of woven roots, an earthly lattice work. He let his attention rest on the textures of the roots, the dirt, and the ivy growing like veins. It gave him peace enough to relax into his surroundings. He blinked hard to try and gather some semblance of focus.

The motion had been seen and soon a voice spoke in the room,

“It’s okay, you’re okay. You’re safe, you’re among friends.” It came from the figure closest to him, a fellow Sylvari.

Trahearne hadn’t seen him before but he didn’t seem hostile. His presence was appreciated for the inkling of a worry that he was still trapped somewhere in the depths of Meguuma had formed. It was dispersed by the company of a very _not_ mordrem individual. When he tried to reply, his lungs suddenly remembered their displeasure at the conditions in the pod. The action of an inhale caught half-way and sent him into a coughing fit. This caught the attention of the pale green Sylvari who had been dozing on the other side of the room – the flower atop her head brightened in alarm.

“What? Is he awake?” She stood and quickly moved to join them.

“It seems so, for now.”

Coughing tends to produce a rather heinous cycle. If inhalation triggers it, coughing ensues leaving one out of breath. Then dragging in a quick gasp becomes inescapable only for it to create another cycle of coughing. Leaving Trahearne lightheaded and exhausted from his lungs exacting their revenge. He closed his eyes as the room wavered.

“I think I have some essence of thyme in storage, that’ll help his cough. Stay with him, I’ll be right back.” Coeltoir made his way to the rear corner of the room, where a wicker basket lay under several sections of overhanging ivy.

Beside him, the thief let her attention remain on Trahearne – or what looked like Trahearne. She couldn’t help but be wary and on guard around him. Doubting he could answer but compelled by her distrust, Caithe asked him in a low voice as so to not be heard by Coeltoir.

“Do you know who I am?”

Trahearne jolted his eyes open at sound, searching the room that swam before him to find the source of the voice. When his vision settled enough for him to see her more clearly, he tried to speak, vocals lifting enough to form the start of a word before coughing set in again. Frustrated, he just nodded.

_Caithe! Of course I know you, sister. How could I not?_

“Do you know who you are?” She asked, quieter, almost as if to herself.

 _I’m still me – far as I can tell._ Unsure how to answer such a question with limited capabilities, he nodded.

There was a sound of exclamation from the edge of the room followed by the returning footsteps of Coeltoir, a small glass container in his hands plus a wooden bowl. It was a simple glass vial of dark color, vine wrapped around the cork tightly to keep it fresh. The bowl was filled with clear water. When Trahearne caught sight of it he was aware of how parched his throat felt. Pouring a little splash of the essence into the bowl, the aromatic wafts of thyme floated around the room, strong but not unpleasant.

“Do you think you can sit up a little? I know it’s hard, sorry.” Coeltoir asked as he handed the bowl to Caithe.

 _Only one way to find out._ Using his arms to prop himself up, he managed to raise up enough for the Tender to slide an arm under him and help him the rest of the way. The change in elevation increased the dizziness to a new level, he had to take a moment to rest. A pounding in the front of his head which had been content to be a background ache became enraged at the change. It beat against his skull with such force he thought that it was going to escape. As if to add insult, the itch of a cough started in his lungs again, making the throbbing intensify.

Guided by Caithe, he cautiously took a sip, though the idea of downing the whole bowl of water was awfully tempting. If the thyme essence had smelled strong then its taste was double what had been diffused into the air. Bitter and herbaceous at first but then delightfully warming.

Feeling better, he risked an exhale. It still had the itch but the impulse to cough had been muted to some degree where it wasn’t an automatic response.

“Awakening isn’t any easier the second time around, I imagine.” Coeltoir said as his charge took another sip.

“…wh-where..?” He started to say not fully recognizing his own voice, it was hoarse and croaked as if the tones were from a foreign tongue.

“You’re in the Grove, you’re home.” The Tender gestured around him, trying to illustrate his point.

Trahearne shook his head, no, that wasn’t what he had meant. He meant where was the Pact? What had come of it? Did they make it out of the forest okay?

Glancing back to his fellow Firstborn for help, Caithe picked up on the thought, “They’re alive. Off doing their own thing. The Pact has renewed itself. The Dragon was defeated. The Pale Tree has recovered. It's okay.”

Relief washed over him, the tension that had risen in his jaw and neck while anticipating the answer had relaxed. All had not been lost. There was a world still out there for him to explore. He made as if to try and rise, but a firm yet gentle hand on his shoulder from Coeltoir stopped him.

“I can’t have you running about when you’re still unwell. You’re not technically a sapling but you still need care, friend. Don’t push yourself.”

As much as he wanted to dash off, his limbs said otherwise. Already under strain from sitting up for an extended period of time, exhaustion and relief twirled together urging him back to the realm of sleep. Trahearne lowered himself back to a laying position – being greeted by a great weight returning to his body. His last thought before the shores of consciousness became hazy was a blissful affirmation.

_It is okay._

* * *

“Ruby,” Riaghael protested as another serving of a dish was placed in front of him, “if I eat anything else I’m going to explode into a sad pile of flan and risotto!”

“You don’t have to eat all of it just tell me what you think! I think the blend of curry seasoning and coconut add a nice pop of color to the fresh mussels. I don’t usually try seafood with such an intense flavor because they can fight for taste dominance.”

He languished in picking up a mussel shell that had a strong orange-red sauce and a generous chunk of garlic sticking out with the shellfish. If he hadn’t been so full he was sure it would have smelled delicious, however, given that his friend had been waiting with her recipe book for a willing taste tester (or victim) – food was becoming an ordeal.

“Look, I’ll be nice to your Arura if it means I can call it quits. I’ll even give them a pat on the head and tell them that their weird fleshy petals look lovely today.”

“That’s a temping offer but no – I just want your thoughts on it.”

Riaghael was in the process of trying to taste the dish when several things happened in rapid succession. First, there was a blur of pink that rushed in like a hurricane from the entrance behind them. Then a god awful shriek cut the air and on instinct, he dropped the piece of shellfish to cover his ears. Lastly, a honk rang out as the blur jumped onto the table and promptly destroyed any food that was left on it.

Ruby gasped, falling off of her mushroom seat as she was buffeted by the wings of a great pink moa. “MINGO!” She cried, cryptically.

The creature lifted its beak at its name and honked in reply, sauce dripping from its beak. Upon seeing that there was a scoop of food remaining, it whipped its neck around so fast that it knocked the breath out of Riaghael and pushed him off his seat as well. The Necromancer dissolved into laughter at the sheer ridiculousness. Two highly regarded members of the Sylvari community, the former Commander of the Pact and the current Commander of the Pact tossed like marbles by a giant pink bird covered in curry.

“Are you _fucking_ kidding me? Mingo?!” Hysteria was edging into his voice as he covered his face with his hands. This was the moa that had been giving his garden so much trouble. Why hadn't he considered that Ruby was friends with it?

“He- he likes seafood!” The Ranger was failing to contain her mirth. “He sees food… he eats it!”

He tried to say something in reply but bouts of snickering interrupted him and he could never get more than a single word out. Across the table and sprawled on the floor most inelegantly, Ruby’s giggling had turned into a series of squeaky snorts. In perfect timing, the moa poked its head over the edge of the table to look at where the sound was coming from. It honked at the Ranger again and a piece of coconut flew from its beak hitting her square in the face. That was the final straw. A deep and unrestrained howl of laughter released itself from his chest, ribs aching.

Those outside of the tree home, looked in their direction curiously. Either confused, amused, or irritated by such a raucous commotion. 

How long had it been since he laughed that hard? When did he allow himself the chance to have sapling like silliness sweep him away? _Too long._ Riaghael concluded.

* * *

Beyond the headache, lungs that felt full of fire ants, and pervading exhaustion – Trahearne would argue that he actually felt decent. There was no reason why the Tender (whose name he had learned recently was Coeltoir) should be fussing over him so. He had awakened perfectly fine once without any aid and he was capable of doing it now. Both he and Caithe seemed to be convinced he would be blown away by a gust of wind like some fallen leaf.

The knowledge that the Pact had withstood the decimation of the Dragon was a comfort, yet inquisitiveness was not so easily appeased. His sister Firstborn explained in a condensed version of what had happened in his absence. Mostly he wondered how they managed to not only kill a god but also replace the Crystal Dragon. So much had transpired, so much to piece together in this great puzzle of Tyria. The Commander surely had his hands full with this going on.

“How is the Commander fairing?” He expected an answer of casual dismissal, of course he was fine- busy but fine. Leading troops, orchestrating meetings, fighting on the front lines, the usual.

“He retired. Ruby took his place.”

“Retired?”

“Mmm.” She hummed in agreement. “Retired. Ruby is doing a great job, too.”

“I don’t doubt that." The thought of his Commander retiring was more alarming than Ruby being chosen for next in position. He gave it thought and then asked, "Since I’m no longer part of the Pact anymore, I can ask as friend instead of a Marshal. How is he?”

Caithe said slowly and considerately, choosing her wording as so not to cause undue concern. “He’s doing as well as one could hope. I never thought I’d see him slow down but he’s rather taken with a normal life these days.”

“We are still talking about the same Riaghael here, right? The one who we had to stop from trying to fight an entire army of risen by himself on multiple occasions?”

“Yes, we are still talking about him. He’s changed, or rather shifted. He’s still the strong willed pain in the branches that he once was. However, he’s just shifted his focus from fighting to basically any other fancy.”

Doubt bubbled up from his depths, doubt that the floral necromancer who fought as joyfully as a fawn prances would so quickly abandon the role of Commander to take up a civilian life. He suspected the reason but daren’t let it emerge out of fear it would never leave.

Letting the reality that the world had grown in his absence made him feel a fleeting bolt of guilt and grief. Of course the world would move on, he wasn’t so delusional as to think he held a position of influence. For he was but one Sylvari, one member of the Pact, one soul. Death he had prepared himself for, in leaving the world as he knew it behind. The grief came when it realized that he would forever be behind, not able to experience or share the events in the space between his last breath and his renewed one. Stories were a ghost of the experience that led to them. Trahearne began to wonder if that made him closer to a ghost than to who he had been.

Songs of birds outside filled the air, cheerful and crisp voices sang flirtatious melodies. Rising and falling, echoing other calls in response or protest. The sounds of life fell into the hollow of his heart where the grief had started and he felt a surge of motivation. _Where life goes – so, too, should you._

“There’s something I would like to ask of you, Caithe. I understand if you’re not comfortable with it though.”

“Ask and we shall see.”

“Could you tell him that I want to see him? I know you said he didn’t believe about the pod but…”

“I can try. I make no promises, you know how he is once he has made up his mind. You’re more likely to get a skritt to part with their treasure.”

“Any attempt and you’ll have my gratitude.”

For the last time that week, the Firstborn set off to contact the spring hued Sylvari.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was roasting myself while writing this.  
> Me: 2P - where is the angst?  
> Also me: :)) don't worry about it, you'll see  
> Me: 2P why that face  
> Also me: :))))) you'll see!
> 
> can you tell I like food? a clingstone fruit is one where the meat clings to the pit, usually a peach. the clingstone types are really good for eating in the moment, but because they cling so much, they aren't always good for long term storage or baking.


	4. The Hardened Clay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Sorry for the shorter chapter, I could have either tacked it onto a really big mondo chapter with the next chunk or split them up. I chose to split them up because it makes more sense to me when I'm reading it back.

**The Hardened Clay**

Yes, they were friends.

Yes, they had fought together against what appeared to be impregnable foes.

Yes, they had much in common.

But if she had to go chasing after that stupid twig _one more time,_ Caithe swore that she would rip those mockingly pink flowers right out of his damn head. Did no one else have anything better to do than to make her be messenger pigeon? Next time they could send a courier, a bird, or smoke signals for all she cared. The communication system Taimi had the team using felt so second nature that hastening to go tell someone a message seemed primitive.

These were strange times, though. Pods appearing out of thin air, the deceased returning to the ranks of the living, forces at work in the Dream. _Dragons. Always Dragons._

Seeing as her friend had become a shut-in, she returned to the garden where she first encountered him. The Dreamer’s Terrace – near the House of Riannoc. She was convinced Riaghael and Riannoc would have been two peas in a pod. Her morbid humor reminded her that it may actually be for the best that they never met, the amount of trouble they would have gotten into was tiring just to think about.

The part that she was dreading was trying to convince him, when she had been on his side before regarding the pod. Which is the reason why she walked, not ran, on the final stretch of the journey to go tell him the development. There is no easy way to say a miracle has happened without coming across as an utter idiot. It made no sense, it shouldn’t have happened. _Shouldn’t?_ Caithe mulled over the word. No, she didn’t like the sound of that. It made her seem like she wasn’t happy about it. For she was glad about it, she had missed him but his death was a sacrifice for the greater good. It had won them their victory. As long his return didn't imply that their victory was undone, she could be authentically joyful.

Before she knew it, Caithe arrived. She heard talking and laughter inside the house, punctuated by a bizarre honk every so often. Riaghael was talking to someone. The other voice she recognized as the Commander, their mutual friend Ruby. Oh dear.

Mingo turned to the entrance, hearing motion. The moa made a squawk and assumed a fighting position. Meaning that he stood with his wings open wide and clawed scaly legs in a wide stance, the feathers along his neck were puffed up.

“What do you mean there’s an- oh! Caithe!” Ruby looked up from scrubbing a troublesome bit of food off of a dish. “What a surprise! How are you?”

She hesitated in the threshold, smiling and pointing to the angry bird blocking her path.

“He’s yours I take it, Commander?”

“In a way, yes. Mingo. Oi Mingo!” She said to the moa, who did not pay attention to anything besides the figure in the doorway. An almost predatory growl escaped him as he stood his ground against the intruder. Exasperated, Ruby put her plate down and walked over to the fluffy menace giving him a nudge to the rump. “Mingo, it’s okay, she’s nice.”

The moa turned his head to the side quizzically, peering at the maroon and brown Sylvari with one eye.

“Nice! Not mean!”

Mingo gave Caithe a suspicious glare and took a step to the side, allowing passage. He ruffled his feathers in a shake as she passed him. Too many new people for his liking.

“Sorry! Mingo is fussy. He’s not fond of strangers.”

“I’ve never seen him out fighting with you.” Caithe said.

“He’s a good boy, but he’s not the best at… strategic thinking. He runs into things a lot. I saved him from getting pecked to death by the other moa chicks, he’s gotten rather attached to me. I let him run around freely so he still gets his taste of adventure.”

“And of my spinach plants.” said Riaghael, unamused.

Caithe looked at her two friends enjoying themselves in high spirits and inhaled deeply. The news she bore was positive but she feared their reaction would not be as gracious.

“I’m actually here because I wanted to talk to you both about something. Something that’s we’re all involved in.”

“Please tell me it’s not more dragons.” Ruby said with a pout.

“It’s not dragon related as far as I know. It’s about that pod that was in the Tender’s Terrace. It finally opened and I think… truly think that it’s him. I know it’s hard to believe.”

Ruby’s eyes widened, the rich brown color lighting up orange in excitement. “It’s really him? How?”

“A good question and unfortunately we have no answers as of yet. He’s recovering from some type of illness from his unusual awakening, but he’s coherent enough. Riaghael-”

She stopped, reading his posture and expression.

His whole body was as one clenched fist, ready to strike. The necromancers back had an unnatural rigidity to it, like a wire taut and liable to snap. Caithe recognized the behavior, she had battled alongside him often enough to know when he was on the edge of fighting. More than that she understood his reasoning, for it was objectively strange and suspect. Intuition had never led her wrong before and she would trust it regardless of how odd it seemed. It was difficult for her to start again but she mustered up the courage and finished her mission.

“Riag, he asked to see you.”

“I’m not going.” The answer was what Caithe had dreaded.

“What would it hurt to humor the idea that he's returned to us?”

“I don’t believe it. Things happen for a reason and it’s proven so far that more often than not it’s not a good reason.”

“Please.”

“I’m not going, I’m sorry, Caithe. I will not meet with who or whatever this thing is that steals faces or plays mimic. I’ve dealt with enough shades and deception to last me a lifetime. I won’t deal with it again. I respect your judgement even if I can’t agree with it. But no. I’m not going.” 

“If that is what you have decided, so be it.” _I tried, Trahearne._ She wanted to say so much but knew it would fall on deaf ears. Riaghael had made up his mind. That was the end of it.

Ruby spoke up as the tension died down, trying to provide a distraction. “Do you think he’ll want to see me?”

“I’m sure he’d be glad of it. I didn’t know you were in the still Grove or else I would have mentioned it to him. Coeltoir will probably be in there – leave Mingo here though, or that will end in disaster and hilarity.”

“Hah! Right. Aeren is excitable enough but at least he has some impulse control. I’ll be sure to visit him soon.”

They both looked to Riaghael who felt uncomfortable by the sudden attention, he turned his back to his best friend and his former team member. Busying himself with organizing the dishes that Ruby had set on the table, he distractedly started stacking the plates. He typically used the leaf based plates that were so common in the Grove, thick waxy leaves cut and cured into convenient shapes for holding food. The ones his friend brought were from some place she had traveled. Simple in their design, what looked or felt like ceramic but with delicate geometric golden inlays. It was elaborate for her, he wondered absently where they had come from. Their expensive nature caused him to put all his focus into handling them with care. It also kept him from having to speak with the two figures behind him, who were glaring daggers into the back of his head.

* * *

Caithe’s heart felt heavy as she returned to the Tender’s Terrace, the epicenter of this situation. It was becoming a more comforting place than it had been originally, now that the affair with the incubation of the pod was over. Being able to objectively take in the atmosphere of the Terrace, she could see why saplings who had awakened here would occasionally return to speak with Coeltoir and Gheimridh. Her and her sibling Firstborns didn’t have such a luxury, especially Trahearne. He would deny it to the Mists, but he couldn’t stop himself from caring for others. The thought passed her mind if it was because he had awoke utterly alone.

When she entered into the pod room, she found him sitting up, right like she had left him. Feeling that disappointment in her chest grow as the hopeful expression fell from Trahearne’s face, as he realized that she had come by herself.

She sat down beside him, frowning. “He says he will not come. He believes it to be a final tactic of Mordemoth’s cruelty.”

“I don’t blame him. He has every right to be wary.”

“Go to him. Maybe he’ll believe it if it comes from you.”

“Or he’ll try to return me to the Mists because he thinks it’s a trap.” He gave a hollow laugh, expression growing resigned. “No, I won’t put him through anything else. He’s been through enough.”

“So have you. So have I, for that matter. So has Ruby. So have all of us who dealt with that dragon’s voice in our heads.”

“I know.” Trahearne smiled sadly. “But what can be done for us, now? Nothing. If I could spare him from more pain – then there is no question.”

“I cherish you both dearly but you two are so dense sometimes it makes me want to pull my petals out.”

“Wouldn’t deny that in the slightest, Caithe.”

“Just go and talk to him! I will not see you both withering away because you’re too stubborn to take a chance.”

“I’m _not_ being stubborn, I’m worried. Worried that he’ll have to deal with more grief on my account. Worried any place of contentment he has reached will be upended. Worried that-“

Caithe interrupted his diatribe. “Worried that he’ll hold what happened against you?”

He opened his mouth in protest to dispute what she had said, yet no words came out. They disintegrated in the back of his throat and left him choked. He couldn’t deny that fear was there as an undercurrent, invisible at the surface yet capable of sweeping him away. Trahearne had just hoped that he would never have to admit it. He let his sight drop to the floor in defeat as remorse flooded his system.

“Oh Trahearne…” Caithe said in a sympathetic voice. He was surprised how much more empathetic she had grown in his absence. A lot of things were surprising him these days, including existing in the first place.

“Is it in poor taste to say I’d almost prefer another dragon?” He tried to make light of the situation but couldn’t find enough humor to not make it fall flat. Not wanting to embarrass him any further, she switched gears back to the original topic.

“You two are making an awful lot of work for me and Ruby, you know.”

“I wish you wouldn’t get so involved in it. It’s between us.”

“We’ve all been affected by your loss. It’s _our_ problem too.”

He found it hard to argue with that, the situation itself was larger than just him and Riaghael. Though he had a half of a hope that it would stay small and in the background of the Grove’s events, he knew it was a fool’s hope. Privacy was something he often craved, but being involved in the Pact removed that from the equation. The spotlight as the Marshal grew wearisome as he was by nature rather solitary. Still, as it was needed for the well-being the Tyria – he felt his personal wants could be put to the side. With the position removed from him upon his death the concept of being able to keep stay out of the public eye felt within reach. Except, for the manner of his return. That earned him renewed attention of a different caliber. No longer was he a respected figure of the Pact but now he was something new, an anomaly, a curiosity. Trahearne wasn't sure if it was an improvement.

* * *

A weed. Then another. Then another. Then another damn weed. He felt like if he took his eyes off this spot for three whole seconds, suddenly it was infiltrated by more heinous weeds. No matter what he did they seemed to creep back in with their pale webs of roots to go spreading as far as they could. It would have been one thing if he could get any type of satisfaction from uprooting the bothersome invaders but finding the source was harder than it looked. The taproots run deep and they have so many off shoots that the original source can lie hidden, festering, waiting to spread out when attention is placed elsewhere.

What was also bothering him about this weed is that from a distance… it was actually quite pretty. Clusters of bright purple flowers shot up from a single stalk, too pink for lavender flowers or sage blooms. The leaves were uneventful, long and narrow with a triangular tip but a pleasant dark green color.

_The blossom is brother to the weed. All things have a right to grow._

He believed that, truthfully, he did. But there comes a point, where the weed that grows risks not only itself but others. How long does one abide by the weed when it threatens not only the bloom but the shrub, the cattail, and the grasses? How long does that right extend when it infringes upon others?

The plant may have equal right to grow but as it spreads, it chokes the other plants out who have the same chance to be able to live. He’d seen this particular weed lurking in wet locations in Caledon Forest, usually sprinkled amidst other plants that favored wet areas. It could stay and thrive outside of his garden – thank you very much. Yet here where he held dominion, harmful weeds would not be tolerated. Riaghael grabbed the most prominent intruder, carefully unearthing its roots to see how far they ran in his garden. He gave it a gentle tug and the primary stalk came up without much trouble.

“That was easy. Too Easy. What are you hiding, you sneaky thing?”

He interrogated the plant, shaking it to loosen the dirt from around the root base. It was then that he noticed how thin the roots were, thread like and delicate but protruding from every angle possible. Which meant that there was no way he would be able to find them all. It would be like finding a silver line of thread in a swimming pool of dirt with other slightly different colored threads woven through the soil. There was no way he would be able to get it all. All that was left was to handle the offshoots as they emerged.

He thought of the Tender, trying to uproot that ridiculous rumor floating around and had even more sympathy for him. Case by case, they were both handling obnoxious weeds.

* * *

It had been close to a week, six days if Trahearne was being specific (he was guilty of counting the days until he could leave the Tender’s care) since he had awoke… again. The _again_ is what was making the situation complicated. Physically, he had overcome whatever vestiges of illness lingered from the pod. He felt much better but his patience was wearing thin. Many plans were ahead of him already, from seeing the Pale Tree, to informing the Pact, to beginning to study the inner workings of the new Crystal Dragon from Taimi and Caithe. As well as the workings of Kralkatorrik, not that even they knew with absolute certainty what transpired with that one. Dragon study is more approximations from people who weren’t killed on sight. There was also news of a human God going rogue causing devastating amounts of damage, and something about a lich and beetles.

For once in his life – the idea of researching reports and documents felt restricting. Elona! To explore a new place again delighted him so much he could hardly stand it.

“Coeltoir, I know. I know to take it easy, to not over exert myself or undergo undue stress. I know, we’ve talked about this at least four times over the last six days.”

“Ah, sorry, Firstborn. I worry.”

“I know, friend. You mean well, I’m just impatient. There’s so much for me to start and I haven’t even stepped out the door to begin.”

“Would a visitor cheer you up?” Someone said outside of the pod room, not even bothering to ask before barging in. In walked an autumnal sylvari, her wild red leaves tied back into a messy ponytail of fronds. Trahearne scarcely had a moment to register who it was before she flung herself at him and nearly toppled him out of the stool he was sitting on.

“Ruby!” He managed to say, gasping for air. Thorns, he forgot how that felt. She often complained that he looked too serious and vowed to remedy it by attacking him with a crushing hug at any opportunity.

“Brother! It’s you! It’s really you!”

“You believe I’m me, too?”

“Of course! No one else has your smell.”

“Smell?” He asked, bemused.

“Aeren told me, his nose is never wrong.”

“So that’s the fernhound Coeltoir meant.” He looked in the direction of the Tender, who seemed entertained by the boisterous nature of the Ranger. His attention was directed back to his friend when the hug tightened further around his neck, it was close to painful and it didn’t seem to be relenting. “Ruby?”

“I missed you. I missed you so much. It hasn’t been the same since you…” She said quietly, her bright voice dulling with old grief.

Trahearne wrapped his arms around her, returning her hug.

“I’m sorry.” It was all he could think of saying. Sadness didn’t suit her, it never did. Ruby was always shining and cheerful, she could make the silver lining appear no matter how dark the cloud. “I hear I’m supposed to be calling you ‘Commander’ now, is that right?”

“Only if you’re part of the Pact and are misbehaving. Otherwise it’s still Ruby. Or nuisance, if you’re Coeltoir.” She peeked over her shoulder at him playfully, the heaviness lifted from her as quickly as it had arrived. The Tender gave her a broad grin in acknowledgement.

Ruby pulled away from the hug, wearing a grumpy frown. “Did you know that your boyfriend is being an absolute stick in the mud?”

The edges of his head leaves heated at the casual usage of the term. He kept forgetting that neither of them were in the Pact anymore so they didn’t have to be so discreet. Not that it ever stopped Riaghael.

“It’s an odd situation. He has cause to be wary.”

“He’s not being wary,” She said, huffing in annoyance, “he’s being a twat!”

A sharp bark of laughter broke from his mouth before he could stop it. When words failed he could always count on Ruby to phrase it in such a way that bypassed the fae-footed dance of trying to be polite.

“You know how he is.”

“Better than most, unfortunately. But are you really just going to let him get away with this? He missed you the most.”

“Riaghael’s life is his own. It’s not my place to try and force it one way or another, even if I want to see him more than almost anything.”

“Why do his wants suddenly have more value than yours? You deserve to be happy, too.”

“I can learn to be happy with just knowing he’s okay.”

Ruby squinted at him, her gaze feeling very sharp and piercing. She said nothing but he grew more uncomfortable with each passing second.

“Ruby, I know you’re up to something. I can hear the gears turning in your head.”

“You’re not technically part of the Pact anymore are you?”

“Death sort of disqualified me.”

“So I can’t order you to do anything after all.” She sighed, looking deflated. “Riag’s not part of it either. Do you know how much more frustrating this makes my job? Can you pretend for a moment that you _are_ still part of it so I can give you a direct command?”

“Hypothetically, what would be the order, Ru- er, Commander?” It felt strange to call her that, the title had been set aside for Riaghael for so long. Ruby was the Commander now, yes, but she wasn’t _his_ Commander. The possessive quality that clung to the word affected him more than he anticipated, he felt his face grow a shade warmer.

“To meet me at the Starbower Nursery to celebrate you returning to us, here in two or so days. I’ve got food to prepare! Well, once you manage to escape the clutches of Coeltoir.”

“Hey now, that’s hardly fair!” The Tender said from the back of the room, “It’s my job to take care of saplings.”

“No one here is a sapling and you know it, you’re just mushy!”

Instead of answering, he turned, throwing his hands up dramatically and exited the pod room in mock anger, making a big show of stomping out. Ruby was right and they all knew it.

There was a mischievous glint to her eyes that gave Trahearne concern.

_Now what are you up to?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be more eventful! I feel like not a whole lot got done in this one, which sort of bums me out. Do you ever get sick of your own writing style? Because I do. I'm tired of looking at my own writing. Besides snippets of sad cabbage and Ruby being well, Ruby. I am enjoying adding in some of Ventari's lessons but then exploring them in different ways.


	5. Root Rot

**Root Rot**

Her arms ached. Carrying so many plates was a bad idea but she didn’t want to have to make multiple trips back and forth. Going from the cooking station to the table in the Starbower Nursery was bad enough, let alone doing it for each dish. There was a plate for each of them that she made specifically to their tastes.

For starters she made a particularly spicy pan of ghost pepper poppers for Riaghael, then a light tropical fruit salad for Caithe, and then truffle risotto for Trahearne. She didn’t know if he had tried it with snow truffles as well as Orrian truffles, but she figured it might be to his tastes. Ruby had a hard time remembering exactly what type of food he liked, it had been a long time since she got to cook for him.

The primary meal was a hearty butternut squash soup, which took much more effort than she estimated. Slow roasting the squash over a bed of coals meant she could add in the smoky flavor without adding too many other seasonings. She would have added some curry to it too, but given that the incident with Mingo was fresh, curry stayed out of her spice armada for a while. Ruby made up for the amount of time she spent on the soup by cheating on the dessert. Simple chocolate crackle cookies, a rich fudgy chocolate cookie that was covered in powdered sugar and then baked so it had an appealing crackle look to it. Not everything has to be complicated for sweets!

A memory of her attempt at making a cinnamon caramel sauce for an apple tart that went horrifyingly wrong reminded her of this.

She didn’t even know you could burn something so bad that it basically turned into obsidian.

Sometimes, Ruby envied the Sylvari born with a silver tongue and a knack for wordsmithing. It would be much less work to be able to convey her love for her friends just by saying it in an eloquent fashion instead of trying to come up with a dish to properly express it. Yet, alas, here she was trying to juggle three plates of fruit salad and then carry the colossal pot of soup.

She may have made too much food, but it was a necessary facet of her plan.

The plan was simple. Invite Riaghael and Caithe for food. Have Trahearne be the proverbial cherry on top and hope for the best! Ruby and Caithe had been trying to find a way to get them to interact, irritated to the high boughs by their refusals. Those two self-sacrificing idiots would be pining in their own various ways forever if someone didn’t step in. Too stubborn to let go, too stubborn to make a move, each claiming they were doing the right thing. What a bunch of moss-headed dunders. 

Ruby had told Caithe the plan when she arrived, the firstborn reluctantly agreeing to go along with the plan. Not that she had much say in it, she was mulling it over while she was sitting at the table waiting for one of the two necromancers to show up.

“Do you think we’re doing the right thing? Maybe we shouldn’t be pushing them so.”

“I’d rather pull a sore splinter out quickly than let it fester, wouldn’t you?”

“It’s not my splinter.” Caithe said.

“They would have run into each other eventually, the Grove isn’t endless.”

“I’m just glad Riag doesn’t carry his daggers on him anymore.” She said it so quickly out of the corner of her mouth that she almost got away with it. Almost. Ruby picked a piece of kiwi out of the fruit salad and threw it at her, it missed.

“You know someone is going to have to clean up after you.”

“Just let Mingo in for a jiffy, he’ll eat anything that is close to food.”

“He’d probably eat the floor where the food landed if you let him.”

“Don’t give him any ideas.”

She fussed with the positioning of a plate, straightening it, aligning it with the other plates so they made a neat row. Only shortly to be irritated by it and put them back in their original format, fruit salad, poppers, risotto, soup, cookies. That wasn’t right either. Fruit salad, soup after the salad, poppers as a side, risotto as a side, cookies last. She could dish out a small amount of each item on larger plates and then maybe would avoid overcrowding the table. No, no, no, because what if someone wanted more of one thing than another? They should serve themselves however much they wanted. Yes, that seemed right. Oh but the table’s not long enough to make it buffet style and people would be reaching over each other. Poor manners. Manners were going to be strained enough as it is – no need for the placement of food to add to it.

“Ruby, I don’t think Riaghael or Trahearne is going to leave the table because the salad was too close to the risotto.”

“I know, it’s just nerves.” Her eyes brightened as an idea came into her head. “Would you watch the food for a moment? I’ll be right back, won’t take a minute.”

“Don’t dump this on me, it was your idea!” Her words landed on the space where the Ranger had been standing, she had excused herself from the alcove where the three leaf baskets seats attached to the ground. Making her way down the winding spiral ramp towards the bottom level of the Starbower.

There was one other stool that she had brought and a round grey-brown toadstool table that was looking very unhappy with the amount of food stacked on it. The table listed to one side. Any other dishes and the whole table would collapse into a mess of broken dish fragments and sections of mushroom.

The minutes that followed Ruby’s absence were tedious and uncomfortable. What if they both walked in and Caithe had to be the one to handle it? Pale Mother have mercy.

Luckily for all involved, Ruby returned shortly and then Riaghael followed not ten minutes later. His hands were still tinted with dirt, the remnants of gardening worn as comfortably as an old shirt.

“Hello, Caithe! Funny seeing you here.”

“Funny indeed.”

“I wanted us all to celebrate being in one place, it doesn’t happen very often and isn’t likely to happened again for a while.” Ruby smiled innocently, clasping her hands together in excitement. “And what better way to celebrate than with food!”

“I was fit to burst last time we hung out – there is no way I’m eating that much again.”

“Don’t be silly, you had a meager three servings.”

“Right, yes.” He waved her off, dismissive. “So, what are we celebrating again?”

“Um, well, us! The whole events with Aurene, I mean the Crystal Dragon, put things into perspective and while we are in a lull – I thought we should celebrate the small victories as well as the large ones. Like the fact that I managed to not scorch the soup!”

“Or that you didn’t lose an eye to flying pieces of coconut and belligerent moas.” He chimed in.

Caithe felt lost. “Sorry did I miss something? Flying coconuts?”

“Mingo honked at her and a piece of coconut from the curry slapped her in the face at an astonishing velocity.”

“It’s true! I nearly died.”

The Ranger and the Necromancer gave each other a look of sibling tomfoolery, before Ruby’s earnest composure cracked. Snickering abounded as Caithe was reminded of the first days of Riaghael’s retirement with Ruby trying so hard to make him smile, yet one would have had better luck convincing a rock. Yet now, humor came to Riaghael easier – no longer were his laughs forced. They sat in their leaf woven chairs and enjoyed a casual banter, all the while Ruby kept one eye on the entrance in anticipation.

* * *

The Starbower Nursery. The place was often spoke about with fondness, yet Trahearne couldn’t find a specific memory of it. Perhaps those more socially inclined Sylvari were drawn to it more. He himself was more given to studying and wandering rather than chattering away about nothing in particular. The Necromancer entered on the lowest level, where only a few Sylvari were gathered either at their own little table or at the counter where a server was pouring nectar. He gave Trahearne a friendly wave, which was returned instinctually.

Winding ever upwards in a lazy spiral, like much of the Grove, the ramp leading to the upper levels of the Starbower were dotted with travelers and curious saplings. Some telling of their adventures, others were nursing their cup of nectar with glow brightened from the drink. Sun snuck flirtatious glances through the intertwined root walls, lighting up the makeshift hallway with strange shapes of light. Stained glass windows were added here and there, outlines in blues backgrounds with yellow floral designs lit up the rest of the way. It wasn’t brightly lit but well enough to see and move comfortable while still maintaining a cozy, private atmosphere.

The next level was more of what Trahearne had expected, lots of seating with a couple of leaf hammocks in the far side of the room. A cluster of Sylvari were strewn about the room but it was far from busy, he didn’t recognize them as his party so he continued on to the sublevel above. Ruby had said she wanted to celebrate his return with Caithe. Harmless enough, he thought. If only that glint in her eyes hadn’t spoke for her. His friend was prone to pranks or general silliness. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was walking into some form of that.

The sublevel was a little alcove that offered a vestige of isolation from the open aired remainder of the chamber. It was here that he noted his party waiting for him, yet there was another among their ranks. Three chairs and all of the occupied. Ruby, Caithe and… Riaghael.

Upon laying eyes on him for the first time in what felt like centuries, his breath constricted in his lungs. Movement away or towards them felt impossible as his legs refused to cooperate. Frozen in body and words, as a warning.

 _My Dandelion._ He thought, the endearment echoing in his head as some hidden prayer. It became replaced with a worry. _What happened to you?_

For though the same Sylvari he had known was before him, there was much that had changed. The vibrant peachy glow that belied his true disposition had faded, its color dim. Delicate flowers that graced his head roots like embedded jewels had lost their vibrancy, their petals brittle and dry. A cruel scar cutting across his face and brow, beneath it the glow had been utterly extinguished. He knew time had not taken these things from him, for their kind doesn’t age like others. Yet here Riaghael stood, looking so much older. Melancholy set poorly on his frame, as though the death shroud of necromancy was never fully dismissed – lingering in subtle hints through posture and expression.

The two necromancers caught sight of each other. In the room, the air felt stiff with hostility.

Ruby stood from her leaf basket seat, “Oh good, we’re all here now. Let’s chat shall we? I made snacks.”

Yet neither Trahearne nor Riaghael budged, the floral necromancer’s eyes locked in an unshakable glare. Darkening his features was what could only be described as the purest form of hatred. Words dripped venomously from him,

“I don’t know what manner of filth this is and I don’t care to find out.”

“But it’s-“

“This isn’t him and it never will be, Ruby! It’s a crude fucking mockery which I for one do not appreciate.” He spat at the other necromancer, “And _you._ Do you find it amusing? Clever? Enjoyable? To wear the face of someone I love and insult who they were by daring to exist? Have you nothing to say, wretch?”

Barely able to breathe let alone answer such a wave of contempt, Trahearne took a step back on reflex at a loss for what to do.

“Then to the Mists with you. And may you rot there. I’ve no use for half-assed imitations and liars. Begone.”

The firstborn looked to Caithe and Ruby, yellow eyes helpless and alarmed. Trahearne took his leave with no small amount of haste as his legs found their motivation again.

“Caithe – did you agree to this? Did Ruby put you up to this? Kindly keep both of your noses in your own damned business.” Riaghael turned his anger on his other two friends, outraged that they kept meddling in his affairs.

“By Balthazar’s flaming left nut!” Ruby exploded in anger, her switch from pleasant to destructive caught him off guard. She kicked the table and continued, “Riaghael, fate gifted you a second chance and you’re too busy fussing about the wrapping paper!”

“It isn’t-“

“No! You shut up! You listen to me, you broody little twit!” She occupied the space in front of him, presence growing larger.

His glow brightened in anger but he remained silent, crossing his arms and sinking into the chair. He folded one leg over the other and gave a terse sigh. There was an element that bothered him today about the way she was behaving, mannerisms that he could not yet place. The way her dark eyes gleamed, the sharpness of her movements, the sudden drops of pitch that suggested a growl. In his mind, an image of that iboga appeared.

“Don’t give me that attitude, like you think you’re on a level above me. You want to hash hardships? Make it a contest? I’ve met two different gods and killed one of them. I’ve helped kill three different dragons. I’ve been to the Mists. I’ve seen so much death and tragedy in this blasted world that I am not going to let even a single drop of joy get wasted. Just because you’re a _fucking coward!_ Any chance at happiness is rarer than you will ever know and new bloody dragons could wake up and eat us all for lunch at a drop of a hat! So when we’re all echoes in the Mists you better have something beautiful to hold onto!”

Out of breathe from her tirade and barely containing the dew that threatened to leak from her eyes, Ruby stood in from of him. Resolute and bristling with righteous indignation. Riaghael was stunned.

This was the first time in all the years they had known one another that Ruby had gotten so full of rage and passion, if it were there before it was cleverly hid behind her pleasant façade. He never would have thought her capable of snapping like that. It was a lot to take in, what did she mean? He knew of the recent events of the Crystal Dragon and some rumors of Balthazar but he tried very hard to distance himself from the newest catastrophes of the world – it seemed there was no end to them. What had he been missing? What had she been doing as Commander?

“So don’t you dare let this pass you by or so help me I will split you open seven ways and let the hounds have you.”

“I-“

“Shut. Up. Now. You go after him. You don’t have to trust him. Just give him a chance.”

He tried to get another word out but her hand twitched in the direction of her sword, in an unspoken challenge. Riaghael left his seat with a hiss of disgust and pursued the other necromancer.

Now alone with Caithe, she took her seat again staring at the table with such intensity that it was liable to combust.

“Are you soulbound to Arura?” Caithe asked, familiar with the sudden change in attitude. She had learned not to take any change in disposition personally, as each pet influenced her friend in ways beyond the obvious combat tactics.

The ranger nodded. It seemed like it was done with great care, far from natural. Too strained, too calculated.

“I think you two both need a break. Can you separate from them?”

There was a guttural noise of confirmation and a green swirling light, it cast complex shadows on the woven vine walls of the sitting alcove. Then emerging from the light was the iboga, its petals unfurling as though it had just woken up. As Ruby came more into her own awareness, she sadly looked at all the wasted food. They hadn’t even tried the main dish. Trahearne hadn’t gotten anything to eat at all.

“My soup’s gone cold.” Ruby’s voice lost its edge, the biting quality gave way to a gloomy one.

“There’s still some left. Maybe we can save it and heat it up later?”

Ruby looked towards where her two friends had run out. “Maybe.”

* * *

He felt empty, emptier than what should be possible. Maybe it was shock, some part of him mused faintly. Legs continued their pace, one two, one two. Where was he walking? Away. Just away. One would think being hollowed out by draconic magic should be the most empty one could feel – but no, not so. This was a different empty. An empty he couldn’t label with some evil but with his loves face. He’s not even that anymore is he? For all the trials and pains he’d been through, this was an unexpected one. Orr held no terror. Maguuma, a tranquil forest.

Love is a strange and frightening beast, he had figured that out from the start. Perhaps it would have been better for the both of them if they’d never known it. The presence of it lingers in the back of the mind, influencing like hidden strings from a fickle puppeteer. Yet it wasn’t as though they’d hunted for it, quite the opposite really, they stumbled onto it with curious eyes and careful hands. There had been times when they considered leaving it in the bushes where it had been found, to let it go and be unbothered by wanderers. Ultimately, they came back to it and each time they did it grew fiercer, stronger, and yet softer. Soon it became a part of him he hadn’t known had been lacking until it was present. He understood the poets who could wax on about it in epithets and allegories, in days now pushed past the brink of recollection he thought he used to love reading those poems. 

Wasn’t he supposed to argue his point? Wasn’t he supposed to try to convince him? To say, _I’m really me, I love you, please believe me?_ So why, when push came to shove, was he walking as fast as his legs could carry him away from the Starbower Nursery? He passed a few saplings that were lounging outside of the establishment, gossiping to themselves and caught a snippet of their discussion.

“Isn’t that him?” They said as if speaking some terrible secret.

“Surely it can’t be, he’s dead.”

“But it looks just like him? Maybe we should-“

The remainder of the conversation was unimportant and drifted out of his focus, left behind him in his attempt to get away from the situation. Ears, eyes, and whispers seemed to follow no matter where he went. The Grove went past as a verdant blur of pathways and faces, his pace keeping its quickened rhythm in harmony with the heart that set the beat of movement.

He knew he had walked far, yet the details blurred into one leering specter that peered over his shoulder with mock demure. When he finally stopped the destination was one he had encountered numberless times. Caledon Path. Dotted with luminous flowers that served as lampposts, their glow attracting little winged bugs that circled around the light like planets around the sun. The rounded archway vines opening out into Caledon, beckoning him out into the world. Away.

Nothing stopped him from just leaving the Grove and forsaking the plans, the announcements of his return. Nothing at all. He could let his legs resume their candid pursuit of freedom and go back to wandering the world like he once did. Let the saplings chatter on the story of the look-alike who vanished from the Grove. Caithe and Ruby would understand. He felt compelled to see the Pale Tree though, after all of this to know that she was still okay.

While he was vacillating on whether he should break into a run, leaving the Grove and all its inhabitants, a sound that was too familiar went off behind him. He had been followed.

“Wait.” A voice said behind him, had it been any voice other than _that one_ then maybe it wouldn’t had hurt so much to turn around.

“Yes?” He questioned wearily and expected another yelling episode.

“Make no mistake, I’m not doing this because I want to. My friend has ordered me to attempt to do this.”

“Do what, exactly?”

“Humor speaking to you.”

“Ah, I see. Well done, you appear to have succeeded.”

“Whoever you are – tell me this. Why didn’t you argue your case? For the part that you are trying to play? Isn’t that what mimics are supposed do?” Riaghael gestured in accusation, pointing a finger at him.

“I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to upset you.”

“Didn’t want me to call you out on your bluff, you mean?”

“If that’s what you believe it to be then fine. Call it what you will. I can’t force you to believe me nor would I want to. It’s not my place.”

“For a fake, you’re really very bad at persuasion.”

“Then if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not debate about this anymore. Your loyalty to him is moving. He must have been lucky.” Trahearnes voice betrayed a part of his misery, a thickness tinted the words as his throat and chest tightened. This was tortuous.

“Lucky is about as far from the truth as you could get. Whatever conjured you obviously didn’t do any research. If anyone was lucky it was me, I’m not the easiest to get along with.”

“That’s not true.” Defensive on his behalf, he dared to speak. Regretting it as it kindled the same confrontational, angry fire in Riaghael he’d come to expect. 

“And how would you know?”

“It hardly matters, you won’t believe me regardless of what I say.”

“…fair enough.” Riaghael scoffed in disgust and shifted, preparing to leave. A thought crossed his mind, like a cloud over the midday sun. He didn’t trust this… whatever it was. It was in all likelihood some insidious lure to get him to reveal his weaknesses. But if it happened to be a fluke, a similar face and nature, he had been cruel to someone who didn’t deserve it. They had as much say as he did in what they appeared to look like for while being blunt was his nature he despised malice.

Not to mention the idea that even speaking to this lookalike felt wrong, the notion of being callous to the real one was awful. It took a lot for him but he willed himself through it, to stop from letting that be the end of this, to meet the Sylvari without anger. He didn’t even know if he succeeded, but there was an attempt.

“Look. Whatever you are. Intentional or not, you remind me of someone very dear. I cannot help but think the coincidence is a poisoned thorn among flowers. If it’s just a vague resemblance by chance, I hate the idea that it is being used against me. I don’t hate you.”

The tall figure let his head fall forward ever so slightly, the leaf structures of his cheeks tightening in an almost imperceptible frown.

“I wouldn’t blame you, if you did.”

He opened his mouth to say something but couldn’t figure out what to add. Instead, he turned swiftly on his heels once more and made for the ramp that would take him back to his garden. There at least he could find peace, if not in the company of his friends and their incessant interference or in the presence of frauds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So life happened and then more life just kept happening! Illnesses, power outages, internet connection issues! We finally get the bits of angst, hurrah! Now that that has happened I can start getting into more of the swing of things hopefully. Unlikely but hopefully.


	6. Rootbound

**Rootbound**

At first, the realization that the best he was going to get from Riaghael was a simple ‘I don’t hate you’ struck him like a blow to the ribs. Having fallen so far from his love by something entirely out of his control cut deep, spiraling wildly on its way down. Yet after a length of time the pain leveled out instead of increasing. Denial was one thing, hatred was another. Yet this distrustful wariness was something he told himself he could live with – learning to incorporate it into his new chance at life. He wouldn’t let it stop him from doing the things that he felt compelled to do but it certainly wouldn’t gild the edges. There was no room to grow in that space of cynicism, no escaping beyond that level.

If nothing else, he was not hated. Pushing it further would risk falling back into the category of a threat.

Trahearne almost could find cause to be frustrated with Ruby about pushing them to it – but even that was a stretch. She only wanted both of them to be happy, they were her family after all. Her intentions were kind even if the results hadn’t been in their favor. They sat on the overlook to the Necrolith Bay, both of them mulling over what has transpired earlier.

“If it’s any consolation, he’s mad at both of us now.” Ruby piped up, her usual cheer sounding a bit dull around the ends.

“Misery loves company, I suppose.”

“Does misery want any risotto?” The Ranger had found him shortly after Riaghael departed for his garden, she brought a plate full of risotto and a spare fork. He took it, if only to humor her. “So what are your plans now?” She asked.

“See Mother Tree and speak with her on what I should do next. I’m not really sure. Elona sounds fascinating. I haven’t seen Orr for a long time either.”

“You’re heading off.”

“Yes, I’m heading off.”

“How soon are you thinking?”

“Very soon.”

“You’ll be gone for a long time then, I take it. Why is everyone in such a rush?”

“There’s so much to explore. So much I missed.”

“I know. I can’t blame you for wanting to wander, now that you’re free from Pact responsibility. It’s just… we just got you back and you’re leaving us again.” There was more sadness to her words than for him alone, he suspected it was a sore subject.

“Come with me. You can guide me around the desert and show me all the places you like.”

“Can’t. Commander. Duties. Paperwork. _Meetings.”_ She said the last word with disgust, sticking her tongue out at the idea.

“Of course.”

“Did you see the statue?” She asked, waving an arm vaguely behind her.

“Statue?”

“The big one!”

“I… saw something.”

“I think you need to come look at it.” Ruby said standing with a heave.

“Now?” He looked at his half-finished plate of food and then in the direction she was walking.

“Yes, now! Goodness me.”

They traversed the short distance to arrive at the base of the rise, the likeness of the Firstborn towering above them. Ruby gave him a gentle pat on the back, urging him forward to take a closer look. The necromancer did so reluctantly, feeling self-conscious in front of the memorial.

One hand raised outward, palm facing the sky as if beckoning. Gazing up at the statue felt a little disconcerting, the looming figure standing in eternal watch, a monument to his sacrifice unwavering against time. Had saplings come and asked who it was and what he accomplished? Had travelers nodded their heads in respect as they passed? Had he helped more by inspiration of his death than he had by effort of his life?

The implications of that settled like stones in his stomach.

“That is humbling to say the least. Perhaps more on the side of unnerving”

“Is it so strange to think that you were missed?”

“I hoped that those closest to me would think of me now and then. But this is… surreal.”

“We grieved, Trahearne. The Pact grieved. The Pale Tree grieved. You were dearly missed.”

The stones in his stomach had become boulders. To think that he had caused so much sadness. Seeing the memorial lacked the flattery that he presumed Ruby intended, in its place was more weight. “Why did you want me to see this?”

“To get you to consider things.” She pointed at a bouquet placed on the ground next to the statues base. “Oh, Riag left flowers. He always leaves flowers.”

“Does he?”

“That’s one of the reasons he got into gardening. Grows his own flowers. He took it as his personal duty, his new Wild Hunt. To keep the memory of you and what you did for us, alive and well – and cherished.”

“I didn’t know.” He said in bittersweet reflection.

Realization fell over him in a tumble as the significance made itself known. The bouquet was a mixture of different flowers, bright red roses and darker crimson roses were the primary ones. Sprinkled in were a couple of pink carnations, who nestled into the leaves of the larger roses. The single flower that caught him off guard, however, was a lonely yellow bloom in the center that looked out of place. A weed to anyone else but to him it was everything.

He once had been trying to learn how to write poetry, the topic for most aspiring poets being of course – love. Love was somewhat new to the both of them and as such, he was having trouble iterating on it. When trying to find adequate ways to describe his Commander, the primary idea that stuck with him was the tenacious nature of dandelions. They floated freely and without concern, surviving in areas that others would perish in, and fighting always to succeed. When asked to proof read the poem, Riaghael had laughed at the description, grinning in mirth at the comparison.

“So you think I’m a weed, do you?” He teased, making the Firstborn fidget with his quill.

“I’m still getting a feel for writing that’s not academic, it’s just a first draft. I can change it.”

“No, keep it. I think it’s cute.”

“Cute?” Trahearne asked, incredulous.

“It’s not trite feeling or gushy, it’s very you.”

Between the two of them, in rare moments alone, the nickname would be repeated in playful closeness. The last time it had been said aloud was before Riaghael left to hunt down Caithe, when the beginnings of Pact’s air force was starting to organize itself for the mission into the jungle.

_The Commander had pulled him aside into a temporary command tent to discuss something. The others rationed that it was war tactics, they kept a blind eye to it and went on with their business. War tactics was accurate, if by tactics one means enveloping the Marshal in an embrace so tight it nearly squeezed the air out of him._

_“Commander, you’re being even less subtle than usual. The whole of the Pact nearly saw.”_

_“Oh who cares? What are they going to do, fire me? On the edge of entering into a new dragon’s domain?”_

_“You make a decent point.” He smiled into his shoulder, appreciative of the hug. An underlying ripple of nervousness was running through him and being around the Commander placated it for a moment._

_“Be careful, won’t you?” Riaghael said._

_“Look who’s talking.”_

_“I’ll make a strong attempt as long as you do.”_

_He let Trahearne pull himself out of the embrace, knowing he was holding up the tasks the Marshal had to attend._

_“You have my word, Dandelion. Good luck.”_

_“And you.” Riaghael said as they parted ways._

A mounting wave of emotions that had been building under pressure started to emerge. Trehearne felt the welling up of dew prick his eyes. He blinked hard, trying to discourage it but to no avail. Quickly raising a hand to press the inner corners of his eyes to try to get them to cease, or at least mask their exit. Such a vile combination. Guilt and grief were wed to an impossible longing and a fondness whose edges hid nettle-like spines. Pulled in so many directions, by more feelings than he thought possible.

If Ruby noticed the sudden crashing of emotions, she did not show it either out of consideration or obliviousness. Allowing him time to try to reel in the pieces without interference. She stood, casually staring up at the statue, taking in all the details and artistic liberties. They really had done a great job with it – the memorial didn’t stand out in a gaudy manner, it drew attention by its gesture and height. She thought of a time where she had come to the newly finished monument and talked to him like when he had been alive. Sharing gossip and news, victories and losses.

She wouldn’t have to settle for the stone tribute of her brother. 

As long as he kept himself in one piece.

* * *

The once strong leaves of the plant lay yellowed, leathery and limp. There weren’t many plants that he grew for himself, but this was one of them. Most were utilitarian, food or flowers. He would gift the cooks the excess that he grew, the flowers were available for anyone who needed a bouquet. This pothos was his – not for sale or consumption.

And he had forgotten it.

Amongst all the drama with the anomaly pod and it’s… inhabitant, he’d taken to tending to his garden. Forgetting the plant in a pot off to the side. So much of his anger he had taken out on the soil, tilling, weeding, and uprooting that he’d ended up ignoring it. Now it looked close to death as it wilted quietly by itself. Dismayed, he dropped the trowel he was using and went over to the pot.

“Oh dear. I am so sorry, my friend. Look what’s become of you.” He rotated the pot to get a better look at it, gently pushing a finger into the dirt to see if it needed water. The soil was cool and moist – it wasn’t water that it needed. Confused, he eased the plant out of its container, it fell into his hands in a solid piece. White roots were wrapped around itself so tightly, they became their own prison and kept the shape of the pot they had been in. There was very little dirt left, no wonder the leaves looked so poor – it was strangling itself.

 _So this isn’t a new problem._ Riaghael thought with a hint of relief, glad to not have killed his pothos through something as mundane as forgetting to water it. _But it’s still a problem._

Now the question came… how to loosen the bound roots without destroying them entirely? Too much damage and the plant will die. Ignoring it and it will slowly suffocate. He put the pothos back into its pot for the time being – until he could find a larger one to hold it. There weren’t many pots around since he preferred to keep plants in the ground as was natural for them. Perhaps he could go see if there was anything at auction that would work.

The task to be done was to loosen a small section at a time, even at the risk of damaging the roots. This was going to take longer than he anticipated. Pothos are hardy plants, it had a good chance of recovering but there are no guarantees. Beautiful when in their full health in a humble way, green vines, broad leaves, and a knack for climbing. Far from the most showy of any of his plants, they are delightful in their steadfastness.

_Except when idiots like me forget them._

* * *

Upon approaching the Tender’s Terrace, Trahearne wondered if he would be welcome or if it would disrupt things again. He had been made aware by Ruby that his awakening had caused a bit of a ruckus, it wasn’t every day that an event so peculiar happens. There wasn’t exactly a door to knock, or a bell to ring, instead he poked his head inside the pod room and said politely.

“Pardon me. Is Coeltoir present? I’d like to speak with him for a moment.”

“Hello!” The tender was in the middle of organizing his work station, primarily small glass containers and unlabeled boxes. Trahearne figured they were essences of other herbs. “I’ll come out and join you in just a moment, firstborn.”

“Take your time, I’m in no rush.”

“That’s certainly changed!” He chuckled softly to himself, seeming in good spirits.

The necromancer smiled returned to his post outside of the room, standing with his arms folded politely behind his back. A few moments passed, but then there was a clatter and a pointed exclamation of frustration. It sounded like glass cracking. He winced in sympathy for the Tender.

Emerging from the room, smelling strongly of some form of herb, Coeltoir grimaced.

“Well that’s one less bottle to worry about. How are you feeling, firstborn? Any other ailments?”

“Oh no, nothing of the sort. I’m feeling fine, thank you. I wanted to ask you if you wouldn’t mind coming with me to the Omphalos chamber. I wasn’t really present during most of my pods incubation, so there may be questions I cannot answer.”

“A meeting with the Pale Tree? I haven’t spoken with her in ages… I would be delighted to help. Is there any time in particular you were thinking?”

“Whenever you have time.”

“Actually, I have time now. I must run to get another vial of rosemary essence anyway.”

“Thank you, friend. I appreciate it. I’ll see you there.”

The dark eyes creased at their corners as he smiled, returning back through the opening in the natural archway of the pod room.

Left alone to his own devices, the necromancer let his mind sort through the potential outcomes of what meeting with the Pale Tree would reveal. Would she welcome him back or think him some menace, to be banished and held in contempt? Walking with no direction in mind, he came to the Reckoner’s Terrance. It was the busier part of the Grove with merchant’s running back and forth from the auction to the bank, to the crafting hubs and back again. They weren’t exclusively Sylvari either, travelers from across Tyria came to sell and trade, craft and mingle. Though not anti-social, Trahearne was loathe to draw too much attention to himself among the hubbub of bodies, voices, and engagement.

Joy for those who live for action. He could think of one who would fit in perfectly to this flow and wave of movement. Yet that one was away from it, off tending to flowers for a memory that refused to tarnish. Embellishing a monument to the source of his pain. It was with a small amount of disappointment that he realized his thoughts involved Riaghael, even when he pointedly tried not to let himself linger on it. As long as he stayed here in the Grove, it was unavoidable. This meeting dangled the possibility of freedom in front of him for with the blessing of the Pale Tree he could give in to the temptation of exploring, like the old days.

As he stood there, watching the dizzying dance of life he understood then that the old days were gone. There was only the now. It gave him both courage and a passing sadness, which looked with weary eyes to the traces of yesterday. 

Trekking his way up the winding ramps, the spiraling passages he found himself at the elevator pod that would take him to chamber where the Avatar of the Pale Tree resides. The fluffy top of the pod catches the wind and would ferry him upward gave him yet another unwelcome reminder of his Commander. No end to the ghosts of what once was – at every turn another, then another. Reminders of inside jokes and secrets shared, reminders of sacred moments and battles against impossible foes. The world at times felt a thesaurus of things that led back to him. He hoped it would pass, maybe even ease a little with time. Perhaps one day – a dandelion would just be a flower again.

The idea of it being shredded of its fond attachment didn’t settle, in fact it disturbed him greatly. Trahearne stepped into the large empty seed pod before any further unwelcome thoughts attempted to waylay him.

* * *

“Excuse me, is Riaghael available at the moment?” A cornflower blue Sylvari approached the area he had been told to search for the Former Commander. He was garbed in the traditional oaken armor, a sheathed mace at his side. This place was off the beaten path for sure. A small woven vine and leaf home surrounded by an immense variety of greenery. Bobbing his head around while trying to catch a glimpse of the reserved necromancer over plants and shrubs, he realized he looked a bit silly.

Blending into the foliage, it took the Warden a few seconds to be able to spot him in the crowded plot of herbs and plants. Riaghael had been sitting crossed legged in his garden, holding a ball of roots with a fringe of bedraggled leaves poking out of the top. He looked up from the bundle of entwined roots, “I am he and yes he is. What can I help you with, warden?”

“You’ve been requested to attend a meeting with the Pale Mother.”

“A meeting? What about?”

“I wasn’t told the details, simply to request your presence.”

“Certainly, it’s always an honor to speak with Mother. At what time is this meeting I’m supposed to be attending?”

“Now. If you’re willing and able, friend.” He gave an apologetic half smile, knowing fully well how unpleasant rushed plans can be.

“Now?” He mused, looking back at the pothos before putting it back into its too small pot. “Oh dear. Very well, you may let them know I’m coming. Just need to get myself bit more presentable.”

The Warden gave a brief bow and departed.

“Why won’t they let me be, I’ve had enough talking and mingling for years. Maybe I’ll put a row of poison oak around to keep others from walking in. Don’t tell anyone.” The pale green necromancer mumbled conspiratorially to the pothos.

* * *

Waiting for him in the chamber above, a small crowd of familiar faces had been gathered. Caithe, Ruby, Coeltoir, Gheimridh, Riaghael, Aife, and Malomedies. Unable to escape a bit of black humor, he couldn’t help but think that he felt on trial for being alive. There he beheld the full spectrum of expressions, ranged from encouragement to contempt. Curiosity to disinterest.

Radiant and gracious as she had ever been, the Avatar of the Pale Tree stood among them. Standing out like a lighthouse on the shores of an existence he had known, departed, and was washed up on again. Though it was with new eyes that he viewed her, he felt an understanding emanating that was as close as his own skin. 

“Come closer, child, and let me look at you.”

Trahearne stepped forward, feeling a shudder of anxiety. What if she found something of Mordemoth’s corruption, as Riaghael had been so adamant about? What if he was really a poisoned barb among flowers? He didn’t feel different than he had before the events of the dragon, but what if it was lying in wait to emerge? The shifting pile of unknowns were stacked against him.

The Avatar of the Pale Tree scanned his form, curious. Neither judging nor accepting – only assessing what stood before her. She spent a great deal of time studying his face, searching for something.

Her guards took a step closer to her as the moment drew on, grips on their verdant hilts of weapons tightening. They, too, were ready for trickery.

Lifting a graceful hand, she let it rest above his head by barely an inch. The Avatar’s presence grew warm and bright, lighting up with an air of majesty as though a sun beam had broken through a clouded sky. A feeling of calm washed over the Firstborn, a weight had been lifted from him that he was unaware he had been carrying.

“He is no spawn of Mordemoth.” The Avatar said, giving a patient smile to her protectors, reassuring them. “He is my own, my first, returned to me against all odds.”

Coeltoir let a mighty sigh of relief escape him, he smiled and turned to the other members of the company. The ranger gave him a knowing look, even the hard to read Caithe looked more at ease. However, his smile dropped from him when Riaghael spoke,

“Mother Tree… how is this possible?” The articulation was crisp and surgical, void of any emotion and carefully gated.

“I do not know everything, my child. And for this we should all rejoice. For what a bland world this would be if all mystery was gone. Children, though we may never understand why or how Trahearne has come back to us, I ask that you treat him with the same kindness that you once did.”

The Pale Tree’s Avatar let her eyes rest on Riaghael without accusation of frustration. As always, her passive fondness that she bore towards her children was not swayed by such behavior.

Although her gaze was free from malice, it felt piercing and Riaghael could not hold it. In the expecting silence, he gave a mere inclination of the head to serve as his bow of respect. There was nothing else this meeting had to offer him. The back of his neck prickled from the stares of the remaining Sylvari, he climbed aboard a seed pod and started his downward drift.

When the former Commander was out of sight, the remaining members started talking among themselves. Ringing in his ears the icy words drew his mood down a few degrees.

“I suppose I should have stopped him.” Trahearne said to the Pale Tree.

“No, my dear, you did right. He needs time to come to terms with this on his own.”

“Do you think he will?”

“We can hope. He clings to his pain. It may have been all that held him together once, but there is always room for something new to grow.” She looked over to the Tablet to illustrate her point. Either Trahearne’s expression read loudly in one way, or the Avatar sensed his upcoming shift.

“The author of the tragedy was the dragon and the dragon alone. As he must come to terms with that – so must you. Give him time. I feel there was something you wished to speak with me about?”

“My heart is calling me to roam, to explore all that I missed. I know the Pact should be notified of my return, though it probably means more questions without answers. But I wanted to ask for your blessing before I took to the road.”

“I would ask Ruby regarding the Pact, my engagement with them is limited. As for my blessing, you have it. But I suspect there are different affairs compelling you to leave, Trahearne. Give them thought. Ah, but the others seem to have finished. Let us see what they have discussed.”

The two Luminaries present had a plethora of questions, which very few of them could be resolved. So often the primary inquiry of _why_ was met with silence. Far above the rest of the Grove, the inquisitive air condensed into a discontented equilibrium. He must have returned for some reason yet the reason and the method remained absent. This conclusion satisfied no one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flower language time! Red roses = I love you. Maroon roses = Mourning. Pink Carnations = I’ll never forget you. Dandelions = Faithfulness. Way off canon for some bits but well woops. I'm not happy with this chapter :| , it feels very choppy! Trying to connect too many different bits I guess. Ah well thanks for reading!
> 
> edit PS; hohoho I feel very strongly that next chapter is going to be doozy, it may take me a while in getting it to how i like but I am looking forward to y'all meeting a certain character of mine, who is about as polarizing as marmite. thank y'all for your love, it's been encouraging me to keep at this silly thing :3


	7. Equinox

**Equinox**

After the gathering in the Omphalos Chamber, Ruby and Trahearne left to discuss the matter of alerting the Pact of his return. It had been going about as well as anticipated with both parties approaching the situation with a mixture of apprehension and dread. Ruby was loathe to go back to work from her holiday and Trahearne worried that his welcome would be about as friendly as Riaghael’s had been. A sinking feeling of having to be thrown back into the pressure and anxiety of being the primary line of defense for Tyria hovered other both of them like some grim cloud. There was a strange honking sound which was increasing in volume and proximity, until finally from ramp that led to the lower levels of the Grove, a pink moa appeared. It was running as fast as its scaled legs would carry it. Holding it fluffy pink wings out at a sharp angle as if it would somehow make it move faster. When catching sight of its friend, it made a sharp turn and headed for Ruby.

“Mingo! What’s wrong?” She asked, putting a hand out to steady the bird from crashing into her. Though the empty headed moa had a tendency to overreact she still couldn’t help but feel worried. The bird let out a harsh croak followed by a very drawn out, very emphatic honk. Mingo’s feathered frame heaved as it tried to catch its air again.

“Ruby?”

“Mingo says there’s someone looking for me.”

Trahearne looked puzzled. Wondering both who was looking for her and how she had gotten that much information out of a single honk. He got his answer to one of those questions soon enough.

A commotion from the spiraling path that lay ahead of them, the same one Mingo had just come up, as excited voices of Sylvari tried in vain to conceal their curiosity.

Tromping up the path slowly but surely was quite possibly one of the largest Charr that he had ever seen. As she came into sight, Mingo hissed and hid behind Ruby, though part of his feathered behind still stuck out. The Charr approached, wading through several saplings who crowded around her in curiosity. They were satellites to the tawny figure as they chattered excitedly behind and around. Towering over them, she didn’t give them a single mote of her attention.

“Anyone seen that damned moa?” She put her clawed hands on her hips and called in a brassy resonating voice. The other sylvari who had been tending to their business on the Upper Commons looked over briefly at the offending figure and then resumed their affairs.

Ruby pinched the bridge of her nose, giving a long suffering sigh.

“I’m over here, Sigilis. Quit harassing Mingo.”

“Oh, aye, there they are.” She said to herself, before saying in the same commanding tone as before, “Pipsqueak, I hate to break up your flock of admirers here but I’m supposed to be hauling you back to Trinity.”

 _Pipsqueak?_ Trahearne thought with a hint of annoyance. Ruby was a touch short by Sylvari average but by no means a pipsqueak. He assessed the Charr that made her way over to them with heavy militant footsteps. There was no doubt that she was of hearty stock, the hairline scars that marbled her spotted fur and the occasional singe mark revealed that much. She looked like she hadn’t seen a proper bath since birth. The four horns on her head were curious, they had either been broken or sawn off and capped with what looked to be iron. Their texture was coarse and he thought that they might splinter if struck too hard. Fine lines of age framed her eyes and the edge of her muzzle.

“Why didn’t you just use the com?”

“Disabled it. Haven’t been able to leave HQ for ages, everyone’s been in meetings for so long you’d think their asses were glued to the chairs.”

“By disabled do you mean you bashed it with a wrench again?” She asked with an expression half way between amusement and exhaustion.

“Like I said. Disabled it. Complicated business, engineer stuff.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt but can I ask who this is?”

“Right, sorry. This is-“

“Sigilis Forgemuzzle. Head Engineer.” The Charr interrupted, crossing her arms and giving him a hard look. “Who are you supposed to be?”

“Former Marshal of the Pact.” He said rather dryly.

“Former? So that means you’re a civ. And that doesn’t answer my question, plant. Name?”

“Firstborn Trahearne.”

“Never heard of you.”

“Oi! Yes you have.” Ruby said, smacking the Charr in the gut reproachfully. “He’s my brother.”

“Technically all the plants ‘round here are your siblings that doesn’t narrow it down much.”

“He’s the one who… sacrificed himself to get rid of Mordemoth.”

“Is that so?” She tilted her head in question. “Doing pretty good for himself for being dead.”

“Death got tired of me, it would seem.”

“Runs in your family then, boss. Now, you coming back to Trinity or am I going to have to carry you like a sack of manure?”

“We were planning on heading that way.” Ruby put a hand behind her back to pet Mingo’s beak – it had been digging into her ribs.

“Great! Mission accomplished. Point me to nearest tavern or bar?”

Ruby pointed in a southerly direction. “Starbower has nectar… I don’t know if any places around here have what you drink, Sigilis.”

“Is there alcohol in it or is it all sunshine and dewdrops, or whatever your type drink?”

“It’s got some-“

“Say no more. You’ll know where I’ll be. Come get me when you’re leaving.” She marched off, metal shoes leaving a dark green trail as they crushed the grass beneath them. Her exo-suit, in its steel plating and glowing yellow projections, stood out about as much as conceptually possible among the lush and living expanses of the city. The gathering of saplings followed behind her from a safe distance.

Mingo emerged from behind his friend and tossed his head back and forward, scouting for the Charr. When he didn’t find her, the moa sneezed in what sounded like an indignant manner. Shaking himself, fluffing up his feathers, the moa gave a soft crooning sound and started back down the ramp.

The Ranger watched him go and gave a fond smile, her eyes softening at the bird as it left.

“He’s going back to ‘guard against more strangers’ is what he said.”

“How can you tell?”

“Soulbeast. We merged once. Bad idea, I had a headache and memory fog for a week. But I sort of understand him now. Most of the time. Sometimes it just sounds like bird noises.”

“Interesting. Well, shall we start packing things together and preparing to head out?”

Ruby sagged a little at the idea but nodded in agreement. She knew all too well about those meetings Sigilis mentioned and was not looking forward to going back to them.

* * *

In a rather amusing turn, he found that he was following Ruby around as she made preparations for the both of them heading for Fort Trinity. Placing excess items in her vault so her carrying packs were less burdensome, Trahearne was alarmed by how much she managed to cram into only a few pouches. There seemed to be no end to them as she pulled out stack after stack of Dragonite Ore, setting them by the Banker who gave a very tired look at the slowly building mountain of ore. At one point she took out what appeared to be an Asuran gun that shot slices of cake out of her bag. It shouldn’t have been able to fit in there in the first place. He opened his mouth to say something but thought better when he realized that _she had a gun that shoots slices of cake_ was not feeling like being on the receiving end of it. Amongst other things were packages of spices, receipts from purchasing ingredients, and a couple of spare weapons. She tucked a couple of large bone shaped treats into her pack, smiling as she did so.

Then it was onto the armorers, Trahearne’s old armor was left buried with the rest of him. It was a disconcerting thought for him, that there was another body of his somewhere. Granted, he knew that his old gear had been custom grown for him so while the equipment that he received fit well enough, just not as tailored as he was used to. Greens and silvers were the colors of the natural armor with the epaulets loose and made of larger broad leaves. They were on their way back to go find Sigilis when a thought occurred to him. He stopped in his tracks.

“Wait, should we tell Riag that we’re leaving? Does Caithe know?”

“Mmm. Up to you. Not sure if Caithe knows, she does as she pleases anyway.” Ruby twirled a strand of her fronds between her thumb and forefinger. “Riag doesn’t seem to take well to talking with you at all.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“Would you be telling him for him or for you?”

The question gave him pause. Trahearne hadn’t considered his motives selfish, in his own reasoning he was doing it for his Commander’s sake. By telling him, all of the cards were on the table. Riaghael could know without pressure of necessity or deception. Yet it wasn’t beyond possibility of doubt that he was holding on to it as a last ditch effort to see if he would change his mind.

“If you’re thinking that much about it, I think you may have your answer, Trahearne.”

“You may be right. When did you get so astute? I mean it fondly, but I remember the Ruby who would run after the bears in Hoelbrak and try to hug each of them.”

“They still won’t let me into Bear Lodge.”

“Still?”

“Apparently I am banned by the Bear shaman for trying to shove a salmon at him while he was yelling.” She laughed, the mental image of the fur clad Norn, redder than a radish at having been slapped with a fish never failed to cause a giggle. “But I guess being Commander made me have to wise up a bit. It put things in perspective.”

“Glad the position has been kinder to you than it was to Riag.”

In a flip that he wasn’t expecting, her voice took on a steel like edge.

“It hasn’t been kind. Just nasty in different ways.”

Surprised into silence, he let her continue.

“It’s so important, to find the little sparks of things that make you happy, Trahearne. Sometimes it’s all you’ll have to hold onto. The Mists are awfully cold without them.”

“What happened?” Concern ebbed into his voice, though he knew Ruby hated it. The remark Sigilis had made earlier stuck in his head and he couldn’t rid himself of it. How was she so familiar with the Mists?

“Balthazar.” She scowled at the name. “You’re not the only one with a history of returning from the Mists. The bastard set me up. I gave him my all but… well, trying to take on a God isn’t a good idea.”

“And you… died? What brought you back?” He wondered if the same force was responsible for his return.

“Yeah. Burnt half of my fronds off, too. I nearly gave poor Braham a heart attack when he saw me after I came back. As for the second part, punching demons in their gross weird stomach teeth and annoying the Judge into letting me leave. The Domain of the Lost is dismal.” 

Ruby. The same Ruby who chased sacred bear cubs because she wanted to tickle their toe pads. The Ruby who fell asleep in the fernhound pens after playing with them all day. The Ruby who showed up late for duty because she baked strawberry rhubarb muffins for the Pact meetings that she wasn’t even involved in. Who brought her plethora of pets to every situation regardless of reprimand or caution. That Ruby. Facing the God of War and Violence, by herself. The information left him reeling.

“I… you shouldn’t have had to face that.”

“Shouldn’t? According to who? You? Who gets to say what’s fair and what’s not?” She snorted, a tad grumpy. Her face started a slow crumble into sadness. “He got Duncan.”

Duncan was the Krytan Drakehound she rescued as a pup from a garbage pail in Divinity Reach’s slums. Tossed out from the rest of the litter due to his front legs being marginally bowed, he grew into a fine hound, fiercely loyal and braver than some of the best soldiers. He knew the Drakehound used to follow her everywhere, being one of the better mannered of her animal friends. Understanding how closely Ruby bonded with her pets and now knowing that she had lost one of them put the last of the pieces in place for him. Stepped forward and put and arm around her shoulders, comfortingly. 

“Don’t let what makes you happy pass you by, brother.” Ruby’s voice held a note of that steel he had detected earlier. “Don’t.”

In the silence that followed, he felt as though the eyes of the world turned upon him to see what he would do.

* * *

Back at last in his garden, he could return to the peace that his personal haven offered. What peace was left, that is. More often than not others kept intruding into his space away from the rest of the world with news, lies, and trouble. Even the Pale Tree was not free from the sway of unfounded hope. Yet her confidence had done nothing but anger him more and in his mind he felt as though it was a form of betrayal. Not a personal one, yet a betrayal all the same. He has trusted the Mother to be removed enough to make a fair judgement, she had known fully the extent of the malice and corruption of Mordemoth so he rationed that she would be the best judge.

Riaghael caught the tail end of his own bias, his own foundation that he deemed to be true and all others wrong in this matter. Though he didn’t catch enough of it to loosen his minds determination that he was in the right– instead all it did was make his mood even blacker. He couldn’t help but stew over it while tending to his garden, having ones position challenged isn’t comfortable or easy. The one relief that came was that the rose bush he was watering didn’t care one way or another about his problems. Its buds were full and close to bursting open in to brilliant white blooms, happy, healthy and content with just being watered.

He guessed he would have sounded mad, but he could have sworn that the plants breathed and whispered. They were so much more alive than many had given them credit for. They had personalities and likes, they threw tantrums, and they almost glowed as Sylvari do when happy. Riaghael treated them all with respect, internally thanking the produce plants for giving their offerings and taking great care to cut the flowers with a swift yet precise hand.

The idea of sloppily severing-

His heart clenched. There was an invisible hand at his throat now and he was trying to ease into leaving.

_Breathe. Breathe. Let it pass._

Slowing his breath from the rapid, shallow rasps it wanted to be was something he had become accustomed to doing. He inhaled slowly, letting his chest rise and fall with diligent concentration. It was easier to return to a less agitated state in and among the plants of his sanctuary. The presence of the herbs, produce, and flowers felt like a balm to a mind who would run itself ragged in loops of thought and obsession. For while his mind recoiled as if preparing for a recurring threat, he could note how the delicate petals of his chamomile plant did not ever stir from wind. It made it easier to believe that it was just his own wayward thoughts challenging him and not an actual risk. Easier to believe, not easier to experience. It didn’t stop being miserable, it was only that it had happened before so the initial alarm was sapped.

* * *

Walking up to the plot of land, Trahearne realized that this was the first time that he had sought him out of his own accord – not pushed to it by others. It felt rather like to walking to the edge of a steep mountain face, peering down at the empty space between where one stands and the bottom. There is only ever two things that the mind thinks of when at such a place: leaving or giving in to that voice that whispers to fall down it, to see what dwells in the ravine below.

There, sat in the middle of his plants, was the Commander. He had an expression of diligence, the kind he knew well from when he was concentrating on something. Jaw clenched to the point of a near grimace and brows drawn together tightly. Looking as though he would snap at any moment, yet the hint lay in his posture. There was no readiness, no tightly coiled wire to his frame. The Firstborn braced himself and spoke,

“I apologize for interrupting, Riaghael. I felt that I should let you know that I’m leaving the Grove. There’s much for me to explore and so I’m heading off.” It felt odd to call him by something besides ‘Commander’. It felt worse yet to act as though they were strangers exchanging polite words of parting.

“Why are you wasting my time? Do you think I’m interested? With what you do and where you go?”

While it was the answer Trahearne was anticipating, sometimes even bracing for the bad news doesn’t adequately prepare you for the result. The thoughts that passed over him were as dark clouds, he felt cut off from the rest of the city. Isolated in his disappointment, an island of himself. At least he could say that he did all he could without pushing the boundaries of his beloved. He was turning from the cliffs precipice.

“It won’t happen again. Please… take care of yourself.”

“Stop pretending that you care.” Riaghael said, not trying to hide the sneer that the words formed around. He sounded like a surly sapling to even his own ears, it didn’t help that he was tired and just now starting to feel like himself after the spell of his minds usual petty torments.

“Then stop caring for a memory.” The answering retort escaped like a bat from the rafters, Trahearne had hardly realized he said it at all. The Commanders stubbornness had only distilled further in his absence, it could be endearing at times or utterly infuriating. And he knew which one it was favoring currently. 

The icy silence and lack of rebuttal made his insides drop in dismay. He had done it now.

Riaghael let out a low growl and the swirls of death magic began to creep out of him, ebbing out like the tentacles of some long forgotten beast of the sea. Black smoky tendrils, dark enough to steal any light that strayed near it.

 _Damn Ruby and damn the Wardens and damn everyone else in this city._ Riaghael thought savagely. He would not tolerate this mimics insolence any longer. He had tried to be civil, to be decent and play along with the others make-believe. Even if the Pale Mother thought differently… she herself said that she didn’t know everything so she could be wrong. Blind hope and wayward wants do not suit anyone – they do not cause anything but misfortune. The little piece of normal he had carved out for himself was not to be endangered by some fetid spawn of the dragon.

As the inky black clouds billowed around him a shape began to form by his side, vaguely round with blue pinpoints of light. Wisp had manifested, his most trusted shadow fiend. It shuddered and shifted its form around, experimenting as it tensed in anticipation for battle. He may not use his daggers anymore, but death magic had never deserted him, it was as faithful as the inevitable itself. Small gratitude found him that Wisp still answered the call when it was needed. The air grew colder and the suggestion of carrion was carried in on it.

Trahearne knew what would happen next, the Flesh Golem would rise sensing the call to arms and then this would go from bad to worse. He recalled that it had quite a temper. Trying to stop things from getting further out of hand, he tried apologizing,

“Riaghael, I’m sorry for what I said. My irritation won the better of me.”

“Arm yourself.” Riaghael hissed, standing from his seat among the plants. 

“I won’t fight you.”

“Ready your magic or whatever foul illusion you wish to conjure.”

“I will not!”

“Why won’t you fight, damn you!” He sounded angry at the top level of his cadence, yet underneath the rage a leaden layer had entered his voice. There was forced quality than made them fall heavily. “Is it not enough to be a Mordrem spawn but do you have to be so bad at it? Fight me! At least do your part and give me the satisfaction of killing you!”

Riaghael couldn’t stop the words that forced themself from his throat, leaving it shredded and tasting of bitter sap on their way out. Upon realizing what he had said one beat too late, the shadowy tendrils that spiraled around him ceased. Jolted away by his sudden shock and loss of focus. Wisp followed their lead, fleeing back to their designated realm when the call to battle had been halted. Looking stricken, the words that he said digging their claws into him. A wound would have been more merciful.

“I didn’t mean… Just go. Haven’t you done enough?” Riaghael's voice wavered.

There was a delicate resignation in the Firstborns voice, a finality. “If you will it, Dandelion.”

“…what did you…what did you call me?” He was staring in shock, it was as though the world had flipped onto its head. There was no one for anyone to know that, unless Mordemoth has scoured and stored every memory that it could get its grasp on. Even that seemed a stretch when the information had no use outside of their relationship, it wasn’t something that would have given the dragon an edge.

There was only one person who had ever called him that – and he was dead.

Time repeated its favorite hiccup.

“Answer me. How do you know that?”

Trahearne gave a drained, thin smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “How do you think?”

Riaghael's mind circled in their well worn paths of thought and reason. Spinning and cycling through the same ideas.

It couldn’t be him. It was impossible.

It couldn’t be real. That type of thing just doesn't happen.

It’s a trick, a mimic, a cruel weapon in hiding. It's lying.

It was a lucky guess. It can’t be.

_“My dandelion, wherever wind takes him – he blooms. A flower to give fright to that looming night, he banishes all reason and sweetens the room.”_ Trahearne recited the part of the poem that he had memorized. A faraway look stealing over him as he spoke primarily to himself, “I never did get any better at writing.”

Looking up from his own thoughts, the Firstborn caught a flicker of recognition in the fellow necromancer’s eyes. Akin to a candle struggling not to drown in its own molten wax.

Riaghael paused before reaching out, the tremor held its victory but he couldn’t force himself to care. Delicately, as though this shape before him would fade away under his hand as fog rolls into the tree line. Letting his fingers alight against the exposed neck, it was not fog that he found. Beneath the tips of his fingers and beyond the tremor he could feel the warmth of life. Solid. Real.

His counterpart had been holding himself together admirably, until then. At the familiar wondering touch of his Commander, it seemed all the stoicism splintered. Pushing his better reasoning aside, Trahearne slowly raised his hand and rested it on top of the one at his neck. He knew full well that something even as simple as this might cause him to recoil. But he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

Instead of drawing back, Riaghael's curtain of wariness lowered further. Slowly descending one agonizing second at a time until it no longer obscured his sight. At last, he saw _him._ Not some dragon filth in a disrespectful mockery, not a phantasm back to remind him of what he had done, not even a hallucination manifested from his own wants. _Him._ His Marshal, his love, his dearest friend.

The bitter chatter in his mind snarled.

_This can’t be a good thing. There must be some sinister reason why he’s back. Don’t fool yourself._

For once, he found enough motivation to argue with it.

 _He’s here._ _He's alive._ _That’s enough._

Trahearne watched with a hope that was so desperate it ached, as Riaghael’s expression shifted from that hostile barrier of defense to disbelief. As though the petals of his doubt were peeled back one by one until what was left was so raw, so vulnerable, he didn’t think there was a word for it. Right before he could find anything to say – there were arms around him, as he was pulled into a hug. Though being of a slender build, the spring hued necromancer was deceptively strong, as an arm wrapped itself around his ribs, Trahearne was reminded of this. If Ruby’s welcoming hug had been tight, then Riaghael’s was going to break something. He could have sworn his bones were creaking like a bent branch of a tree.

They clung to each other, as though the other was the only solid land in an unending expanse of water. A haven against the shrieking gales of the world.

It wasn’t clear to him whose knees had started to buckle, whether they were his or Riaghael’s, but all the same he knew they were being pulled downward. The ground was rising up to meet them and the Firstborn did as best has he could to guide them both without falling into a heap. The landing was far from perfect but considering that there seemed to be no injuries he considered it a victory. He hardly felt the ground when they landed, too focused on the figure he was now on the ground with to care much for anything else. They had both come to rest in a half kneeling, half sitting position.

Riaghael, however, refused to look up, or to break the embrace for even a second. Fearing, in truth, that the moment that he let go, in one way or another, his beloved would disappear. He still did not trust his mind not to not play some cruel prank on him when he least expected it. Least of his worries now was the tremor, which had spread from its usual home in his dominant hand to his entirety. When he served as Commander, he had known some soldiers to tremble when faced with mortal peril but when faced with joy? A new phenomenon for him. There was a pressure in his eyes and throat that kept him from speaking, but he didn’t mind. Words felt like baggage on a topic too precious for speech. It was as though everything he’d wanted had come to fruition, only it was far more than he expected and his voice and mind vacated at the thought of having to act.

Moments passed in silence that was as sacred as life itself, delicate and raw, their golden seconds a marvel in the gaze of eternity. It was Trahearne who dared to speak first though it gave him much effort to do so.

“I’m so sorry.” He said, barely above a whisper. Trahearne realized he’d been saying that a lot lately, but was sort of at a loss as what else to say regarding the situation. And it was true, there was so much he was sorry for.

Luckily for him, Riaghael was brought out of his reverie and on the same train of thought. His voice was thick sounding. “What do _you_ of all people have to be sorry for?”

“If I’d known… if there’d been any other way…”

“Shut it.” He snipped, the brittle hint to his voice laced with relief. “It was my duty to free you from that torment.”

“But I-“

“Will you stop apologizing!” He interrupted, loosening his grip on the Firstborn by a hair, “If anything I’m the one who should be begging your graces. I’ve been a proper fiend to you.”

“To be fair, it would have been stranger if you hadn’t been concerned. Fiend or not, it made sense.”

They lingered in the quiet for a few rapturous moments, arms wrapped around one another with less of the crushing death grip that it had been before. Their glows of such opposite colors reflected together in a contrast that complimented their true nature. A soft peach and a rich purple.

Trahearne pulled away enough to cup his fellow necromancers face with the palm of his hand, his gaze tracing the scar that cut across his brow. It was a jagged line of brown scaling over his right eye and down. The color stuck out harshly against the pale green complexion. The moment he had seen such a reminder of injury, he could not help but worry – grateful that he hadn’t lost the eye as well in some miracle.

“Who or what did this to you?” His words were soft with a dangerous anger concealed among the silk of his voice. “And are they still around for me to deal with?”

“A Sylvari who gave into Mordemoth. They weren’t over fond of us killing their dragon. Don’t worry, I’ve gone through worse.” Riaghael smiled, a hint embarrassed.

“I see.” Trahearne frowned, wondering what other injuries he failed to bring up. His Commander had a tendency to avoid talking about such things until they either got dire or became unavoidably noticeable. He let his hand drop back into his lap.

“I’m fine. Haven’t done anything dangerous in ages, you should be proud of me.”

“I am proud of you. I am so proud of you.”

He had said it so genuinely and tenderly that Riaghael felt his eyes threaten to water. “Don’t start that, or I’ll bring Wisp back.”

“Right, sorry. Riag-”

“I love you.” The words tumbled out of him with such speed it barely gave him time to breathe. “I never said it enough before, it’s never stopped haunting me that I didn’t say it enough.”

“You didn’t have to, we both knew you meant it. Plus we were pressed for choice on time to be able to say it, when weren’t we busy?”

“To hell with being busy, I should have said it a thousand times over.” He huffed, still unhappy with his past choice. Riaghael shook his head, as if trying to shake the lingering trails of bitterness out of it. A new air of worry crept over him as he recalled the words Trahearne had said upon arriving at the garden.

“You are leaving the Grove?”

“Someone has got to tell the Pact about this whole situation. It’s not exactly the easiest thing to believe.”

“You don’t say.” Riaghael blinked in bemusement and let his thoughts wander. Here, before him, was one who had died. Now healthy, hale, and whole. Preparing to walk into a nest full of questioning and potentially hostile people, as he used to be even an hour ago. To be presumably poked and prodded and harassed until some new dragon comes to end the world and they need fodder. Mind set on a straightforward course, he ordered his legs under him back into standing shape as Trahearne helped him up.

“When are we leaving?” Riaghael asked, dusting his yellow and green leaf robe off from sitting on the ground. He picked a stray twig out of it, flicking it to the side.

“ _We?”_

“Mm. When? I have a couple of things in my chest I could take but I’m not prone to carrying much these days.”

“You’re… coming with me? You don’t have to if you don’t feel up to it.” He said in surprise. It was a welcome one. He hadn’t expected him to leave his corner of the Grove so easily and felt a little guilty at dislodging him from his abode. More than that, he hadn’t wanted him to get back into the botherations of the Pact if it upset him. This garden seemed like Riaghaels own personal realm, his own heaven – removing him from it so jarringly went against what he had intended.

The spring green necromancer glanced up from tidying his garments and gave him a look that was very akin to the fire in his eyes back in the days when they fought together. That unshakable determination, come dragons, death or dismay.

“Where you go, I go. Now, when are we leaving?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY VALENTINES DAY! What better way to celebrate than by having my cabbages reconcile. Also lots of life happened and while I won't bore you with details, I got a new computer :D So I'll hopefully be able to actually write now besides in my little phone app ;U;
> 
> Am I happy with this chapter? Not at all! But at this point I'm happy with so little of my work that I know it's my own personal lens and not always the content itself. 
> 
> I *am* going to keep chugging on this, though I've taken myself off the hook for any deadlines or regular uploading. It is what it is when it is! That way I don't burn myself out as bad. 
> 
> Duncan was a real dog I knew and adored who passed after a great long fight with cancer several years ago. He wasn't my dog but he won me over with his enduring personality and stoic protective nature. 
> 
> Again, thank you all for reading and for all your kind comments - y'all have keep this thing turning! Much love -xo 2P

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for stopping by to check out my story! No idea what the update schedule will be like, if at all. 
> 
> Cheers,  
> -2P


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